One of my high school friends went on a family trip and returned to find his girlfriend obsessed with a dead bird. She had found it, extensively photographed it, and kept it in a box. He broke up with her. I cannot, for the life of me, get over this story, even though it happened almost 20 years ago. I want to hunt this girl down and ask her approximately one million questions.
This drawing looks a bit like one of those "how are you feeling?" hospital charts. It starts out okay ("smiling cat", "drunk pirate"), and descends into full Lovecraftian Horror. I was driving toward a local town known for its unpleasant yokels, which probably explains the progression. Today, for the record, I'm 75% Apathetic Lumberjack, 5% glassy-eyed cat, and 20% Vampire Waluigi.
I think Taco Bell Bear's mama might have drank a little too much Dew while he was in the womb. The theme of this page is "giant heads and the horrible birth experiences they yield."
