Kate has lived in her home for many, many years, but only after a recent homeowners association meeting did she discover that her house, and in fact much of her neighborhood, was designed by insane physician/architect/end-times enthusiast Ivo Shandor. The arcane street layout has been collecting negative magical energy for decades, and it has finally reached enough power to make eggs cook themselves on counter tops!
According to my mother, my birth was a horrible shriek-inducing and blood-letting ordeal that lasted all night and into the next day, adding up to twelve hours of torture for her. But you couldn’t prove it by me. Maybe a bit of Mom’s epidural got to my infantile cortex, but I have no recollection of any part of the event. It just blew right past me. If I had to compare it to anything, I’d say my birth most resembled a coma for its lack of noticeable features. Not that I’ve ever been in a coma (the closest I’ve come is breaking into a locked car with my forehead and then drinking a six-pack), but I’ve heard it’s a non-event if there is one, at least for the unconscious party. And if my mother were honest, I think she’d have to say my birth wasn’t all that memorable for her either, especially since she died last week.
Sometimes I get so caught up with these monstrous mutli-panel comics that I forget Ben & Winslow started out as all single panel all the time. I’ve been working on several art project this week so it was a good excuse to draw something simple. Also, I’m sorry that “something simple” involves a juvenile penis joke. I can’t resist!
Jill
As per our conversation, yesterday, 13th February 2011, I am sending this e-mail to provide guidance and clarification, as to the untenable state of our relationship. It was agreed in said conversation, that it was mutually beneficial for both parties; i.e. you (herein referred to as “Jill”) and I (herein referred to as “Jack”), to sever and thereby cease our current relationship, forthwith on the 14th February 2011.
I’m certain being a parent isn’t easy. I myself am anxious for the day when I cross into the realm of fatherhood and have to explain to authorities why my six year old is repaving the driveway, and why an infant is doing some light roofing. (I’d like to say this would never happen but times could be tough.) Naturally, the main aspect of parenting is being able to keep the little rugrat in check throughout various disciplinary means. The hope being that this sculpts them into a productive member of society so they avoid becoming a forty year old schizo with a freezer full of beheaded cats.