Friday, August 12, 2005
Cartoonist. Stop humping the undead.
Fair Gentlemen of Verona:

Listen: I hate you people for not posting more. You're all dead to me. Dead as hell. Who is Ryan? I know no one named Ryan. Mel? Who's Mel? Jorge? Who would name their kid Jorge?

Okay.

I don't hate you.

Your mother and I are just disappointed.

We found . . . your "magazines."

I'm trying to explain to your mother that this is a phase, and that you are probably snorting glue. Probably not just snorting it but applying it to your nipples, and liberally, and then pretending you are a department store manequin, touching the hardened shellack of your skin . . . we have tape of you entering J.C. Penney's after hours. Your mother hired a private detective and he brought back a VHS loaded with . . . did you have to use that drill bit? Did you have to wear that power tie from the men's department? The store sent us a $22 bill. Do you think we can afford that, with your therapy bills?

I have to write an occupational report on 'cartoonist.' . . . this is one of those reports where I say, What the hell? There is no occupational information for this because it's barely an occupation. How many people succeed in this career field? It's not that common! But if anyone knows of anything . . . any sort of occupational stats . . . let me know.

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