Back in 2024, I started drawing a comic as a bit of a joke—one of those ideas you don’t expect to stick. I’d always wanted to create something inspired by my all-time favourite film, RoboCop (1987), but the real tipping point came when I watched RoboDoc (2023), the documentary about the making of all the RoboCop films. That’s when it hit me: this film had burrowed way deeper into my brain than I’d ever admitted. I didn’t just like it—I owed it something. This was going to be my tribute.
Originally titled RobertCop, the concept leaned into the bootleg underworld—dodgy art, knockoff games, and bargain-bin films orbiting the 1987 cult classic. But then the name RoboCock landed (not exactly original, sure—but it had teeth), and suddenly everything snapped into focus.
RoboCock: The Future of Cock Enlargement
This was the one that kicked off the whole bizarre trilogy—and it’s pure, unapologetic violence. Dreaming up new ways for RC to shoot people in the dick was, surprisingly, harder than expected. But by the end, I’d carved out something that felt complete: a grim, black-and-white aesthetic and a brutal tone that would bleed into everything that followed.
RoboCock 2: Battle of Verhoeven
I hadn’t planned on a sequel. But ideas have a way of mutating. I started thinking about the era—films like The Terminator (1984) and Westworld (1973)—and suddenly RC2 was clawing its way into existence. Then came the real spark: discovering that Paul Verhoeven, director of RoboCop (1987), also made Showgirls (1995). That alone practically demanded a sequel. RC2 leans hard into chaos—cheeky, crude, packed with bad puns and unapologetic nudity. It knows exactly what it is.
Let’s be honest—RoboCop 3 (1993) is a mess. Aside from the Japanese robot that crashes the finale, there’s not much there worth satirising. So instead of forcing it, I pivoted. RoboCock 3 became a horror comic—looser, stranger, and way more experimental. I let the style run wild and kept the process fun.
It might veer into the artsy side, but that tracks. Some of my favourite horror films—The Shining (1980) and Midsommar (2019)—are as beautiful as they are disturbing. This one ditches the usual comic clutter too: no speech bubbles, no sound effects, none of the noise I usually find distracting. Just pure atmosphere.
And honestly? It was the most fun I had drawing the whole thing.
