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If An F-Bomb Drops In The Woods

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…and no one is still watching SNL, does anyone give a crap?

After my spinal tap on Thursday, I am on day 4 of “24 hour migraine explosion time.” Looks like I won’t be able to get a blood patch to potentially cure the “spinal headaches,” so I am banking on bed rest, fluids and complaining (the healing triad).

If you are keeping track at home, I spent the first few weeks of September on the couch with horrible back pain due to a bulging disk. Now I get to spend the rest of if on the same couch with nausea, light sensitivity and the feeling that my brain is swelling to the size of… larger than it should be. It’s hard to think of funny analogies when your brain hurts. I’m sharing all this not to garner your pity, but to help you realize under what strain and difficulty this comic was produced. If it isn’t funny or up to snuff, cut me some slack and hope for LOLier pastures later in the week. I’m not even sure what characters I drew. I made this comic while squinting through the visual cacophony of blinding white hate-flashes you people call “light.” It burns us. Burns our eyes and our minds.

With this comic completed I will begin to seal myself up into a darkened cocoon fashioned from mud, twigs and my own secretions. I will either emerge a beautiful healed butterfly, or dead. OK, maybe I am fishing for some pity. It’s been a shitty month.


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