Do you want fifty-two hours of continuous ENERGY? Do you want ludicrous amounts of PEP? Do you want bowels that move at the same rate as CONTINENTAL DRIFT? Then get in your car, crank up the Zep, plow through the doors of your local whatever-mart, and grab some Cheexie-Stix!
The title for the strip is on loan to me from Dernwerks, seeing as how I can put it to much better use. Don’t you just love it when a comic has a plot structure? I know I do.
Dern and Prindiville were kind enough to tolerate my obnoxious behavior over the weekend, though I was upbraided very curtly on several occasions. By the end of the con, whenever I tried to speak, fists and canes would rain down upon my head in a preemptive attempt to keep the stupidity locked within my skull.
They were mostly ineffective, though the attempt was noble.
