i AM SO FUCKING PATHETIC

What the hell am I doing sitting around thinking about sodomizing various rodents and plants? Like most people, I often ask myself this question. And like most others as well, too, I know there are no easy answers as to why sodomy, rodents, and squash are just so damned funny to me. I'll tell ya though, confidentially speaking, I fear that down this road is no Hemingway like adulation, nor even a Grisham who weathers the literary storm of the critics as he merrily laughs all the way to the bank. . . no, no... this just makes me weirder than before. The older I get the more creepy it will be. I'll get busted for hanging out in pet stores playing pocket pool in front of an aisle prominently advertised as the hamster hutch. I'll claim the young girl clerks excited me, and the cops will play along to keep the conversation from even going near what I like to think of as 'the exotic scent of man rodent love.'


I guess this is about as close as I can get to expressing my fucked up moods lately. I feel adrift, like an astronaut on a permanent space walk with only a slight, tenous rope keeping me from spinning off into the cold, distant stars. The rope would of course be made of hemp. I worked all day writing a stupid comedy story for in here, than on a drawing which is easily another one of the best I have done (I recently had a big break through in drawing and took my shading to a whole nother level; not that this means I suck any less over all).
I truly feel like a failure most of the time. This is a sign of sanity, I suppose, as much as anything else... or as close as I am likely to get to one.

Oh, go put it in a sock with some vasoline and have your way with yourself. Then die in the act, so from this day forward all will scoff and chortle at the mention of your disgraced name. Or buy a hat?

THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.