I began my Shakespeare studies under Professor Alfred Wainscot at the University of Cincinnati in 1982. Dr. Wainscot had recently published his groundbreaking study of the Bard’s so-called problem plays, with special attention to the deformed Greek Thersites in Troilus and Cressida. A month after handing out our freshman class syllabus, he was found face down in the Ohio River near the Serpentine Wall in Cincinnati, his body riddled with .45 cartridges and a cinderblock tired around his neck. He was identified, even so, by his alert look.  

Today’s comic is filled with strong emotions. Some might say it’s filled with the strongest emotions of all.

I’m a 34FF cup (or more) with an A cup personality. You won’t find me leaning over tables revealing where my tan line ends. You won’t catch me in skin tight sweaters or low-cut halters. You’ll never find me lounging by the pool without my t-shirt. In my fantasies, I’m an artsy, dramatic figure, a sleek line dressed in black from head to toe, my hair pulled back in a pony-tail, my back bent over a 1960 typewriter. Tiny, perky breasts emerge from this fantasy silhouette. At times, I have almost accomplished that svelte figure, but two large obstacles always obstructed my way.

Things are so weird right now that when I have time to draw, I end up drawing the most random thing that pops into my head. I apologize for nothing.

I can barely stand to say this, much less write about it, but I think it’s fair to warn you that our faces are infested with mites. There, I said it. I stumbled across this unnerving information in the reputable magazine where I read it, and thought it my duty to pass it along.