Life would certainly be a lot less awkward if we could have officially appointed representatives handling all our uncomfortable social situations on our behalf. Mind you, I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to turn down someone’s advances at a nightclub. There’s a chance that this is because I do not frequent nightclubs – that I can, in fact, count the number of clubs I’ve been in on one stamp-free hand. But I’m not entirely willing to rule out the possibility that it simply hasn’t come up because there’s a government conspiracy actively working against me to make sure people don’t talk to me at clubs, bars, dance halls, VFWs, PTA meetings, and other places where adults awkwardly try to solicit one another for sexual favors while obnoxious music is playing.

Of course, given that I generally handle talking to complete strangers somewhat poorly, that would easily be the worst use of a cabal of clandestine conspirators’ time ever. But then, I suppose that’s bureaucracy for you. And I do have a wide array of enemies. Or, at least, natural predators, which I think basically counts at the same thing. I mean, let’s face it, I could honestly say “that lion over there is my mortal enemy.”

I seem to have lost my train of thought, and with it any semblance of a point. I suppose that’ll happen when you’re sitting at your desk an hour before a comic is supposed to go live, randomly bashing letters on a keyboard because you just remembered you never did get around to writing that author note you were supposed to write days ago. Looking back at the preceding paragraphs, however, it would appear that I have done that very thing – and rather admirably, at that. And thus do I depart, that I might sleep the sleep of the righteous. Or, at least, the sleep of someone who knows how to fill an awful lot of space with absolutely fuck all.