My first encounter with Al was almost twenty years ago. We were both students at the Berklee College of Music (an institution which figures prominently into PRANK THE MONKEY). Al worked the Berklee cafeteria, where he instantly stood out, even among all the art school freaks. The cafeteria had a dry-erase board that was used for the daily menu, and Al would always accentuate the menu with strange doodles involving oozing secretions, severed body parts, and bared buttcheeks. Exactly the kinds of things you want to be thinking about just before you eat. 
Aside from the doodles, Al had a presence that was larger than life. With his shaved head and "don't fuck with me" attitude, Al had a reputation for being bad, in every sense of the word. Al fronted a rock band called FirePig, a band so loud they were known to cause spontaneous evacuation of the bowels. Even at Berklee, a school that specializes in modern jazz and rock, FirePig went so far beyond any sense of decorum or good taste that, according to legend, Al was actually prohibited from playing at the school anymore. Imagine going to a music school that then tells you not to perform any more music there. Some schools would just expel you, but I guess Berklee needed the money. Undaunted, Al began showing up at concerts wearing a black hooded mask, so no one could identify him as the singer. In some strange way, Al was the most remarkable figure at that remarkable school, and while I was too scared to talk to him, I knew he was already a legend.
Through a twist of fate (we both caught the gay), Al and I ended up living together a few years later. I discovered that behind his menacing, intimidating, and occasionally homicidal exterior lurked a gifted, passionate, and brilliant artist. Our collaboration began with "The John Hargrave Memorial Concert," the infamous prank in which I faked my own death, explained in gory detail in the final chapter of PRANK THE MONKEY.
Since then, Al and I have worked together on music, videos, posters, games, live performances, Web sites, publicity stunts, and now our first book. He's the Ralph Steadman to my Hunter S. Thompson. My work always feels more complete when it's accompanied by an original Al Natanagara illustration, because I think our styles are so similar in tone. Al is not just instrumental to the look and feel of ZUG; he is the look and feel. It's literally his artwork everywhere you look, from the oozing watermelon to the steaming underwear. From the beginning, I wanted Al to have a special role in PRANK THE MONKEY. I knew I definitely wanted original artwork for each section, and I wanted to give Al an artistic challenge with a four-page spread of illustrated unicorn sex. But beyond that, I wanted to capture the doodles that I saw on the Berklee menu boards so long ago.
Al and I spent a long time talking about this. I must admit that I was not easy to please, asking Al for revision after revision of his original drawings. We eventually found a common ground of inspiration, which was Sergio Aragonés, a cartoonist from Mad Magazine who filled each issue with tiny doodles in the margins, quick visual gags that never required dialogue or text. Both Al and I had admired his work as kids, and it gave us a reference point to start discussing how the illustrations should flow in the book. 
I wanted the book to be as visual as possible, pure brain candy, the kind of book you don't want to put down because it's just so much fun to read (Howard Stern's Private Parts was an influence in the visual design). I wanted no redeeming value, just pure entertainment. And largely thanks to Al's illustrations, the book succeeds at that. "It's the perfect bathroom book," one of my early readers told me, "because it's fun to look at, and each chapter is just about the length of an average bowel movement." That, my friends, is Al's influence. So let's raise a toast to the great Al Natanagara, who proves that the pen (tablet) is mightier than the sword. Thank you for helping create such a fantastic book, my friend.
Next: Under the Covers!