Oh, My God: These Dudes.
My shitty cold apparently decided that the Campaign to Keep Andrew from Sleeping would be more effective if another ailment was recruited for the cause. So now I have a painfully throbbing staph infection in my thumb, too.
My cold’s instincts were dead-fucking-on; I maybe slept for half an hour last night.
I’m telling you this to explain why I’m going to be sharing other (presumably well-rested) people’s shit on here instead of making up my own shit for the next 2 or 3 days.
The shit I would like to share with you today is the Dinosaur Comic published in this week’s edition of The Mercury:
“Seven hot feel tall” is the best personal description I’ve ever read. I wish I’d thought of that myself.
I love Dinosaur Comics. I usually can’t stand comics or graphic novels; as I’ve previously mentioned, I have almost no sense for aesthetics. So it makes sense that the one exception is a comic that uses the exact same six panels of artwork every week.