Everyone’s happy to know that Hubris doesn’t actually sleep in those weird outdated polo shirts, right?
Hubris has a drawer full of those shirts, and by golly, the especially torn-up ones would be good for PJs, wouldn’t they? Maybe tear the buttons off the collar. I dunno.
You know I’m not just assuming he owns torn-up ones. I’ve drawn a few into the strip over the years.
…Hans Gruber would have been so proud.
Seriously, “Hans” was the bad guy’s name in Die Hard. There was also “Karl”, and “Heinrich”, “Kristoff”, and “Fritz”. And a few others, but really… that’s a LOT of stereotypical names for deadly germans, ain’t it?
I don’t think there’s a correct use of umlauts in this whole comic.
So, changing the story arcs. Gotta swing the increasingly bulky craft around, aim it in a new direction, and get under way. Hard to do without getting a little maudlin. Hopefully, today’s cartoon is a quick enough turnaround, as we sail into the next chapter.
Anybody want to make a request? Now would be the time. I’ve got a framework to hang things on, and as soon as I start filling in details, you psychics will start figuring out where I’m going. You might as well start telling me what I’m going to write and save me a lot of extra work.
I’ll give you a clue- I’m finally getting around to a previous request for a particular kind of bike race. Fire up the crystal balls.
This is one of those strips that you hope no brand new reader is going to see first thing. This one’s for you guys that seem to read my mind about the story bits and who remember tiny details about everyone in the strip. It’s been bumping along at the edges of the story for a long time, and I didn’t know where to put it. Til now. It popped up when I was trying to think of what should go into Hubris’s dream. So here you go.
I spent New Year’s Eve in Snoqualmie Pass in Washington State. Karl and his family have a lovely ‘cabin’ up there, across’t from the ski resorts. (It’s more of a really nice condo than a cabin, but if you got one, you can call it anything you like)
Next door, in an empty lot (empty of houses, full of snow) Karl and my brother made their traditional ‘snow lounge’. Meaning they used snow shovels of various descriptions to cut down into the deep snow, leaving a table in the middle of a lot of cleverly fashioned seats. The neighborhood kids, and mine along with ’em, ran rampant over the whole thing, and we needed to do a little rebuilding during the daylight hours, but by nightfall the footprints had been eliminated from the table and the seats were sit-able again.
And there was a bar carved off to one side. Here it is:
The drinks needed no refrigeration. In fact, your beer would have ice in it before you could finish it. Not bad a’tall.
Keeping the fire pit from melting its way down through the table was the tricky bit. But that’s another story.
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