“Except for sometimes, when it doesn’t go far away. Then it just goes into a big metal bucket under the front yard and a truck has to come by every once in awhile to take it far away. So what kinda mileage you get on that space car? That a V8? V6? Whatcha’ got there? A flesh vaporizin’ ray gun?”
It would mean a lot to me if you signed up for Patreon and supported me there. Comics is my full time job, but it currently just barely pays full time money. Every little bit helps.
With this comic, I had two ideas along the same theme and sketched them both out. My Patrons got to see my alternate take on this comic’s theme! Were you such a Patron, you would have bonus comics as well!
I try to remind myself often to be thankful for plumbing. Not just plumbing, but INDOOR plumbing. I don’t have to go down the street to poop, or stand in line or wade through a crocodile infested river or anything! All I have to do is go to the room in my house that we’ve decided is the one place it’s ok to poop (I don’t remember voting on this, but there seems to be a pretty clear consensus among my family members and even our occasional guests) and do whatever disgusting thing comes natural.
In the uncomfortably recent past, people had to endure all sorts of ordeals just to poop and then get away from it. Sometimes they couldn’t get away from it at all! Other times they would get away from theirs only to be immediately confronted with someone else’s! MANY someones else! In Victorian England, you’d toss the contents of your poop pot into the god damn street, and be all, “Well, at least I don’t have to deal with my own poops anymore,” just as some other Victorian knob tosses their poops right out in front of you! Now you’re dealing with STRANGE POOPS! This is the worst kind of poops to deal with. It’s bad enough when they’re familiar. It’s a whole different story when they previously belonged to your neighbors and other various Victorian randos.
Indoor plumbing is a miracle. A fragile, beautiful, FRAGILE miracle. I say “fragile” because I know how much infrastructure is involved in keeping the pipes zooming the dooks away from the places where our children and pets sleep. When society starts to crumble in… let’s call it an even 15 years, we (just like the Pope) will be shitting in the woods. Then nobody’s gonna want to go in the woods. “Those woods were pretty nice, before the fall of Mankind,” they’ll say as they tear their neighbors trachea out with their bare hands because they heard the neighbor was hoarding clean water. “Yep, real sham about those woods,” they’ll mutter, arms awash in throat blood.
Oh, did you not know we were going to be killing each other over water before the current slate of Marvel movies has been released? Well, we are. If you need more evidence than the fact that we fill our toilets with clean drinking water when a billion Indians don’t even have access to the stuff, then… I don’t know, you’re dumb I guess. “Yep, we used to poop in water. CLEAN water! Can you believe it?” you’ll regale the tales of old to the children. “The hubris! Can you believe the hub-NO, Jacob! With the thumbs! Use your thumbs to poke his eyes into his brain! If he can’t see, he can’t stop us from taking his water rations! THAT’s it! Now you’re gouging!” At least you’ll still be able to spend time with the kids.
