Lance Sharps on December 20th, 2005
It is done. Charges dropped, hands clasped. The tears on the pavement evaporating rapidly under city streetlight. In the early hours of a Los Angeles morning, the former plaintiff and defendant renewed a professional bond.
This is the result. At first, the final panel drew my ire, but I realized that the false Modern Humor Authority had come full ouroboros, grasping its tail and crushing all past affronts with a snake-like clench of its shovel-like teeth. I couldn’t help but chuckle silently at the fate of my comic strip counterpart — said body-shaking chuckles giving way to besorrowjoy-wracked catharsis.
I no longer have a ghost.
December 20th, 2005 at 2:57 am
Fuck, Sharps, I told you you shouldn’t run this shit. That rat drops you a few lines about metanarrative and you cream your pants. HE GOT AWAY WITH IT. That last panel should have made you PRESS MORE CHARGES. Jesus Christ.
December 20th, 2005 at 8:09 am
I regret to say I agree with Todd, largely because I was forced by circumstance to spend the long flight north next to a sleeping Lance and his lasting, ah, reaction to the encounter. Attempting to use an air-sickness bag for concealment only made the priapism more obvious. In the end, I pulled the bag over my own head, hoping for anonymity. The air marshalls were quite understanding.
Lance, if you remain in that condition, I urge you to seek medical help.