The one panel joke about robot breasts turned into a three panel joke. Then it turned into a twenty panel joke. Now it's at thirty panels and it keeps getting longer and dumber. Why is my brain like this. Help.

The neighbors are often on their balcony, looking through the office window to see a hairy bearded man hunched over a screen, shaking his head violently to endless black metal as he scribbles on the tablet. This weird hermit could only be drawing the most brütal, vile things.

There's a box of pogs somewhere in this apartment. I can't seem to find it, but I know it's there, there's a terrible aura of the 90s permeating the place.

Now that the scanner embarrassment is done with (it will haunt me forever, but only at 3 am when I'm trying to sleep), it's back to the regular sketchbook scans containing horror and occasionally a decent drawing or two ('s ok, only my $1 patrons are subjected to this torture)

Trying to make comics faster. It's not even the drawing bits, it's all the word bits that take forever, which I guess makes sense because what's a word if not a series of tiny annoying drawings.