Holy meme.

(There's backstory to that strip.)

Am I disloyal for liking

Sluggy-by-Foglio

better?

Everybody else

misspells it.

Why shouldn't I?

It's the little things,

like your last name,

that you lose first...

This is so weird.

My eyelids are swollen.

I look sleepy.

No, I don't know why

I'm telling you.

A private moment, glimpsed:

Our grouchy DBA,

eating lunch with his daughter,

grinning like an idiot,

completely disarmed.

...Tell me

to go to work.

And Neil published

another of my letters:

second one down

on Sunday.

No freakin' way.

Sluggy Freelance's

"Filler Week Guest Artist"

is Phil Foglio!

*sniff*

Go see Finding Nemo.

Goodness, it was sweet.

Oh, god.

This is what they mean.

This is writers block.

I hate it.

It's the weekend.

I'm craving coffee.

I don't have a problem.

I don't have a problem.

Y'know what I like about

Imaginary Year?

Reading about other people

being people

makes me feel

more like a people.

Are y'all finding me okay?

New version of Blogger =

Lo-fi version for flunkies =

PDA-compatible blogging =

Happy Sherbie

Thank you.

My moment of weakness

has passed.

My blog still won't publish,

mind you.

But I don'

wannaaaaaah.

For a complete change of pace,

I am writing a ballad.

It's delightfully awful.

Overheard:

"What happened to your

horns last night?"

Music?

No, football.

They're calling me,

calling me.

The creepy thing is

co-workers are logged in, too.

I'm not tired;

I'm bored.

Heh.

Spam tells us:

Women should be smaller.

Men should be larger.

Realization of a life-long dream:

My first ride in a Jeep Wrangler.

Doors off, and everything.

Oh... yeaaahhh...

('Course, I'll never get a brush

through my hair again.)

Powazek gives us

a story worth reading.

Masterful.

Have I got this right?

If we all run to the east,

we can slow the earth's rotation,

and get more hours in the day.

Who's with me?

Fat

jokes

aren't

funny.

It takes

a special kind of lunatic

to keep a cuckoo clock,

and a special kind of sadist

to keep one in an apartment.

Argh!

"Root-cause"

is not a verb.

Still,

I'm glad we did.

The sky dark like night.

Wipers on high not quite adequate.

Lightening strikes, just over there.

Accoustic Susanne Vega.

Wet through, on my way to work.

I'm proud of

this essay.

motivate me

This

was

awesome.