Since my days as a teacher in South Korea, I have been intrigued by ESL (English as a Second Language) instruction. After receiving further certification in the area, it occurred to me that there was one important sector of life which English had failed to conquer: birds.

Coming from the “Land of the Freakishly Tall”, I understand the fascination that you vertically challenged folks have with our height. You stare at us in awe as if our size was gifted to us by the Gods themselves, making us preordained to lead humanity into a Golden Age of Prosperity, and that is too much pressure. I just want to lounge around eating various cheese and meat products straight from a can like any other normal person. I’m well aware of how amazing you short folks think we are, really I do, and I’m certain you’d like nothing better than to be our sidekick, which is why I’m gonna give you a few pointers as to how to get into our good graces or, at the very least, keeping us from grinding your bones to make our bread.

Those of you who host regular events (gaming nights, parties, orgies, whatever) always have that one person you never invite. You know the guy. The social reject that never talks, or never stops talking, or eats all the dip, or somehow manages to lock himself in the bathroom/shed/hall closet for several hours before anyone knows he’s even in there. Winslow is that person. He knows it. And it’s taken a heavy psychological toll.

I would like to live in a cave. Not one where you take an elevator to get down to it and the tour guide lady reminds you to dress warmly because it’s a climate-controlled 52 degree Fahrenheit cave. That’s too cold and you can bang your head on stalactites and stub your toes on stalagmites. Most people can’t remember which is which. That tour guide lady told me there’s a way to remember: “stalactite” has a “t” in it for “top.” That way, you’ll know it’s a stalactite when you bang your head on it.

I wish I could say that this comic is based on a true story, but sadly, none of my friends have ever used a flare gun to summon fellow gamers to their RPG. We always used such boring methods as text messages, or e-mails, or phone calls, or even–dare I say it–organizing a game in person! Of course, if we used flares, particularly novelty flares that “look like things,” we could end up summoning the wrong sort of people entirely. Like when you find Fezzik’s Summoning Pot in the lowest depths of the dungeon, and you try to use it but fail your intelligence test on a d20 roll of 13 or higher, and instead of summoning a level 7 ifrit you summon a demon from the Blackest Nether Reaches that gobbles up you and the rest of your party.