Not a comic.

It has come to my attention that I'm moist. Frankly, I don't recall ever being this knowingly moist, perhaps with the exception of the summers I spent in Japan. And when I covered my entire body in flour, yeast and secret hobo spices, it only made things worse as people tried to smother me in gravy, Texas style. Also, the a/c in my aparrrto doesn't really work. Ain't that a drag? Not a J. Edgar Hoover kinda drag, but more of a "I'm going to dump your books and drag you through the mud after gym class, twerp!" kind of drag.

Item!: I cannot tell a lie. My roommates are kinda slobby. As a result, I spend my days fantasizing about how they will someday do their own dishes or at least not culture anthrax and Clostridium botulinum in the half-full bowls they leave around. This is different from my usual fantasies, which, interestingly, also involve flour, yeast and secret hobo spices. (Gross!!) Anyways, sometimes I think about real passive-aggressive ways to handle the problems. I thought I was being really original when I came up with the idea of placing dirty dishes on the bed of he who dirtied them, but this concept apparently originated with the concurrent work of Newton and Leibniz. Thanks for making me creative, MFG 202.

I move back to Orem next month, children. It's been fun living among the bunglers of the urban...ish jungle of Provo, but I think it's time to cut costs and play more Guitar Hero III, so back to Mom's it is!

Update: I forgot to use the word "hobotomy" in this post. I'm truly sorry, everyone.