As suggested by my equal and opposing force, today’s strip was from the stage at PAX East. People asked to have one of my many lumps immortalized in the strip for some reason, in an act of craven lump-shaming, but I’ve put them in the strip myself before so maybe it’s fine. I suggest in the video of the panel that these are akin to the “lovely lady lumps” immortalized by Fergie, but Gorbiriel thinks they are not those and are, in fact, disease. I can sometimes feel them stealing my vitamins, but beyond that, I think we can both live in here and have it be mostly okay.
I’m back home now, but only just, as we took a slight detour home from PAX that went through Disneyland. My feelings on Disneyland are incredibly complex, but without expending a ton of high contrast phosphors let me say that my son appears to prefer playing Plants vs. Zombies 2 over anything we did down there, and that doesn’t cost anything unless you really, really like the Torchwood. The citizenry of the happiest place on earth is comprised of granite fathers, psychically shredded mothers, and crying children holding an empty cone in their hand while its fallen scoop flattens on the sidewalk. If I were to look at my post history, searching it surgically with keywords, I would no doubt find other instances of this progressive revelation. They would constitute the physical and spiritual negation of the crumb trail that lead to that haunted desert, a negatrail, which leads home and is home.
When I got back, I watched an episode of Inside Amy Schumer in bed with Brenna tipping the back of an IIPA up high enough so that the contained liquid slid into my craw zone. It may be that my standards are incredibly low, it may be that low standards constitute a strong policy. But it was a top ten kinda night.