You’ve got to learn to be laid back if you’re using teenagers to disguise your bunker from Pentagon Black Ops recon.
Happy Friday the 13th, y’all.
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Posts Tagged Mr. Cranky
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I’m back. Did you miss me?
And yes, that’s a snippet of Nancy comic in the photo placeholder. I’ve been doing some work with Guy Gilchrist. And we’re not done yet.
I’m exhausted.
How many of you are now hearing Eric Carman from South Park shouting about ‘respeck mah authoratye’
We’re under the gun for time again! If you don’t understand what that means… then I’ve had time to color the cartoon and get it back up before you got here.
If not, well, you see.
Now I want to do a whole thing where Ramon and Paste are detectives.
Trying to get my taxes sorted out for the year. Boo.
Doing so with a new accounting company. Yay!
Have no real idea what it’s going to cost me. Boo.
But I’m recommitted to making sure I do the bookwork all year long instead of having to spend days counting up and figuring to get my tax stuff prepped. Yay!
I don’t enjoy tax time!!
But when I’m done, I get to buckle down and send the 1st Anniversary Patreon packs out, finally. Late. Y’know.
Don’t you love those times when you’re asked to do a favor… and it’s exactly what you’d want to do anyhow?
I’m trying to think of a good example.
I’m sure there is one…
Well, maybe YOU can think of one.
Not enough mountains around here, that’s what’s keeping me back! You don’t wanna go riding off into the mud flats of the river delta, nosirree… that’s a lotta miles with people standing around watching you and saying, “Daggone, man, he must be, what, four or five miles down the road. Oh, look, he stopped to catch his breath again. Well, gettin’ dark, best we go home. He’ll be out of sight by morning, I reckon.”
You ever know those people- the ones who like what they like, food-wise, and can’t be steered very far in some new direction?
Like taking your grandpa out for Indian food. Might not work.
My grandfather? Meat and Potatoes guy. Fought in WWII. He wasn’t gonna eat Sushi, y’know? Pizza looked a little squiffy to him. Thai? Tie what?
My dad? Tex/Mex is good. Chinese, okay… Ethiopian? Vietnamese? Maaaaaybe not.
My grandkids will probably joke that I wouldn’t ever eat reconstituted protein from the Reclaiming Unit, or lab-grown beef slab. Those li’l squits won’t have the kind of immune system my grand-dad had, though. Nosirree. He probably had antibodies that’d crawl right out of his body and attack stuff he was just THINKING of picking out of the garden and putting in his mouth.
Now we’re gonna call him “Mr. Not-Quite-As-Cranky-As-We-Thought.”
