Long strange trip, all that.
Ten years ago I started posting my therapeutic little doodles to the Internet. I could go into the story of how I was washing my car on a hot sunny day when the idea came to me, listening to the Flying Lizards song Money (That's What I Want) and thought about the needling little nickname of Monkey my Nan gave me after seeing Monk and noticing I washed my hands before handling food.
...This year I've repaired the step-on can's step-on thingy for the billionth time and peeled the papier-mâché remnants of raw sewage off the walls of the boiler room (okay, fine, I wore gloves). This event was alluded to in one panel of one comic last month and then I was onto bigger things, namely the holy crapness that was The Slinky One slipping under the fence for a lark and the constant reminder that I fuckin' love my cats and dog.
This comic is my life. Telling the tales of the backyard has been a bizarro distillation of my life, but for the most part the only record of great big chunks of my time. A map from then to now. To the future. With mah pencils and mah furries.
...This year I've repaired the step-on can's step-on thingy for the billionth time and peeled the papier-mâché remnants of raw sewage off the walls of the boiler room (okay, fine, I wore gloves). This event was alluded to in one panel of one comic last month and then I was onto bigger things, namely the holy crapness that was The Slinky One slipping under the fence for a lark and the constant reminder that I fuckin' love my cats and dog.
This comic is my life. Telling the tales of the backyard has been a bizarro distillation of my life, but for the most part the only record of great big chunks of my time. A map from then to now. To the future. With mah pencils and mah furries.