When given a real life object to compare to, I realize I imagined them being about eight centimeters high. I think they seem fat now.
We sold Privacy out to Security and Convenience. Didn’t stand a chance honestly. Also: the recent change up in comic format is awesome.
How did it live?
(it was LulzSec in the library with the candlestick)
Just wanted to say that these last few strips have been great! Cat and Girl is my most anticipated comic of the CENTURY now.
You heard the portmanteau, stifle yerself.
Ahhh, s.t. …and Dorothy may have once worried about me.
The answer is it died shriveled and dried out behind the radiator.
Hey, s.t.? This isn’t the neurotic monologue page. Could you keep it down to one or two comments per comic?
I don’t know that having a gimmick poster/performance artist/troll helps these comment sections. It’s up to Dorothy, I guess.
But, seriously, s.t., you’re putting all the tactful 1-box commenters at a huge disadvantage ;-)
(Also, privacy was left handcuffed to the radiator?? I think there was probably about a century of being conditioned to voyeurism involved. I guess it died of old age.)
It’s been more a little less than two hours since his last posting. Is… is he gone? Have we weathered this storm? Let us pray it is so.
So the comments are sort of getting wailed on. If you use Chrome or happen to run Greasemonkey in Firefox, I wrote a little script to hide comments based on user name. It’s tiny, and you can install it from the URL I’m linking.
And here I saw 75 comments and naively assumed they would all be variations on “congradulations on twelve great years of comics.”
Can someone find and help this person? I can’t unsee what I’ve just seen. Can someone find and help me, if not the former? I don’t know how to hide comments, but I now know how to not read them.
I try to stay pretty Voltaire about the comments section, but I draw my imaginary line at vulgarity. S.t., be respectful of the other commenters. We all just want a conversation while we kill time.
Oh, right, happy twelve years. Let’s go for twelve years moooooore whoo!
I think you need to join Twitter. ;)
My mother died a few years ago. Most of my work colleagues were wonderful. Sympathetic, said they were sorry, offered to listen if I wanted to talk. In sharp contrast, my boss asked me in the middle of our open-plan office how she’d died. I still fret slightly about what he thought he was getting from that information. It’s possible he wanted to pray for her (he was a born-again and they’re often that way inclined in my experience), but I can’t see why he’d think God would need that information to identify her. It’s possible he was just a dick and I’m over-analysing though.
I am going to die of mortal coil deficiency.