Man, I sure do hate poisonous snakes!

The days of facial ignorance are behind me, I’m slowly morphing into a hobgoblin of the highest order in my 23-years and I’m done shaking my gargoyle fist at the stars about it. I am a man surely soon to be damned to a life in the shadows of some long-forgotten David Cronenberg cathedral. With a missing canine tooth, the hair of a disgruntled Locks For Love terrorist, and one functioning pair of ink-stained Levi’s, I look more like the type of guy who writes erotic Neil Young fan fiction than a dude who you’d want to help give directions to the nearest ugly haven.

I would wear one of these all day, every day. Maybe even in my sleep. (I don’t think that would be safe, though, so maybe not.)

I wanted to learn one song on the piano. A single song from beginning to end, no slip-ups. Why? Because it was there—like Mount Everest was for George Mallory. The moment I laid eyes on my nephew’s new Yamaha Clavinova CLP-625, I knew exactly what George meant.

Today’s comic strip is based on a true story! Have you ever experienced the gastrointestinal equivalent of excreting an entire fireworks display? Because I have!