A Note For Potential Insurers.

I'm tired of photoshopping Mowbli onto things. Here's a new game. Anyone who feels desperately compelled to sell me insurance, just all of you get together in a big circle around me. I will have a machete. Anyone with enough fingers left to type up my details at the end of five minutes can sell me insurance.



And the very best of luck to you all.

What It Says On The Tin.

Zombie dating. Yup.

Zompocalypse: The Comic!

If you use Stumbleupon, never, but never add 'comics' as something you want to browse. You get sites about actual comics, but you also get the absolute worst hack webcomic shite.

It doesn't matter if you can't draw, just stack two circles on top of one another in MS Paint and away you go! People will think it's charming and homemade! You definitely don't need jokes, only those bullshit hacks who make money money from their comics bother about shit like structure and punchlines.

Here's my guide to making a webcomic:

That Meaty Harvest.

For some time now I've been promising everyone who reads this thing that whatever floated to the top of my spam filter would once again be pressed up against your screen like so much face at the window.

Without further ado then, some moist, if not entirely fresh, spammy treats for y'all:

Don't get lost in her eyes because of small dimensions.

Or impossible geometries, presumably.

Tell them about the honey

You must. It is fucking imperative.

Have wild nights of love back again to life.

Despite appearances, the message was not selling sex zombies.

We have everything to cure your masculinity.

Good. It was beginning to itch.

Unemployed To Be Used For Soup

If you vote for Cameron.

Be ready go come anytime

That's why we had the flap installed in the kitchen door.

All the women will be in awe when your manhood shines like a star

What? I mean, what in the name of Jesus Trevor Christ?

Do you want to be King of sweet babies?

Categorically no.

And finally, not a tagline, but I did receive a message from a man by the name of... Kenny Jesus. And I'm glad I did.

Please, Stop Calling.

Common Sense?

At The Cair-funn Whare-huss.

I have been phoned perpetually by representatives of Carphone Warehouse, all wanting me to extend the free insurance policy I didn't sign up for. This has been going on for nearly a week, despite each and every one of them swearing blind that it would not happen again, in any of the up to five times a day I have been contacted, and it's starting to bother me.

Yarrp.

You're not getting an explanation. Or an apology.

Le Retour.

I'm back.



Aren't you glad?