I just downed a meal that involved grilled meats, fresh corn from the field and other such treats and as a result, the digestive functions have kicked in and rob me as I type this of the blood and oxygen needed to form a coherent thought. I am slowly fading toward unconsciousness on the First Monday of September, a.k.a. Labor Day (in North America), the day we cherish what labor is, how hard we labor at our work and most importantly — why we are wildly happy to have another day away from the office, where they have easily taken 16 or 17 pounds of my flesh. Not sure what that would be in metric.
The idea for this comic has a long a tortuous past if you go through my emails where I write down and store most of my ideas. Safe to say, it was simpler to draw than to write it. But I have to give credit where it is due. My sister-in-law’s sharp wit inspired the final frame, but I liberally stole her idea and made it my own. If this comic ever makes me any money, she’ll sue me for it. As will my best friend and much of my family. Mostly for sport more than for any substantial reason.
So now that I have published this latest installment of the comic that is often cited by critics as “foul literature”, an “artistic blight”, and by the medical establishment “as a clear sign of mental degeneration and likely a genetic defect masquerading as a sense of humor”, I shall retire to the bedroom, rummage through my car magazines and dream the dream of the just, with images of me at the wheel of a fiery sport cars, towing along a trunk full of butter-rich croissants and maybe a dozen fresh bagels.
Keep the faith, and please keep over-eating so I’ll look a little thinner next to you.
-Johannes the Druker