Devon Mc Mindes2020 Anno Domini 2120 Anno Rex
A man in a labcoat stands by a chalkboard, which is covered in complex equations and flowcharts.
(gesturing with a long pointer)
Gentlemen, science has proven that birdmocopter has NO NATURAL PREDATORS.
The doorway is darkened and a large man enters the room. He is wearing a commodore hat, and a long sword is buckled to his belt. An insignia denoting high military rank is pinned to his chest. Following closely behind, several men-at-arms wearing combat helmets and carrying polearms also enter.
Then God has appointed that job to me.
Werner and Carlos are standing around near each other. Carlos is browsing the internet on his phone.
Hey look, Goatkidd is posting pictures from Zanzibar.
Werner's head spins, like a compass following the flight of a meteor.
WHAT!! How did he get there? A trip like that costs more than he eats in recycling in a YEAR.
(folding his arms, incredulous)
And I bet he made some sappy comment like "FoLLoW yOuR hEaRt To ThE eNdS oF tHe EaRtH".
He says "nope, i'm sad here too".
(flinging up his arms)
THAT'S EVEN WORSE!!
You've been laboring over a single comic page for the last three hours. The widths of the frames are perfectly calculated, illustrating the beats of each moment smoothly. The margins are correct, and the spine has been accounted for. Then suddenly, as you lift your pencil from along the lead-caked edge of your ruler, you realize, using your gutter size the width of the frames is going to come up an eighth of an inch too short to match the page width. You sigh and pull out your calculator again.
It doesn't have to be this way.