I had no idea revolting continuity would emerge from the last strip, but continuity makes a shrewd opponent. We found ourselves so curious about Brian, however, that we simply wanted more. When you see his mismatched furs in the moonlight, his strangled expression, and this is to say nothing of his vicious bear, you may find yourself craving him as well.

Despite some comics you may have seen online, Gabriel and I are not gay and we rarely have sex with one another. Indeed, long ago we solicited the services of two young women for this exact purpose and eventually went about securing them in exclusive contracts. I chose the Brenna model and have thus far been reasonably satisfied with the purchase. There's only one facet of the union that grinds, and that is her acquisition of a nicotine addiction. She doesn't chew, I never retract from intimacy with any kind of mulch on my face. She smokes. I don't care if you smoke, as the odds are good I never have to taste the inside of your mouth.

It's a "hobby" she picked up during one of her bacchanalian summer drama tours. I asked her if it was accurate to say that she started doing it because the cool kids were, and she replied that, no, it was because everyone else was doing it. Apparently there are points of distinction between those two things that my apparatus doesn't have the magnification to detect. For a long time, I only suspected it - when I would kiss her during some college visit, it would taste as though she had been eating cats still crisp from a barn fire.

She has tried to quit before, but she clearly didn't mean it and I had no energy to support her in some grueling ordeal she had only nominal interest in. This worked out great for her, because then when she failed it could be my fault. It's a service that I provide people too lazy to take the reins of their own lives.

This time, though, I get the impression that she's very serious. Furrowed, Gary Kasparov brow serious. And so, at her request, I installed The Sims and Living Large so she would have something to do when urge, like a precision meteorite, strikes her entire body. She has her own computer now, so it's not like before where I would approach softly, hat in hand, and ask to check my e-mail. Thus far, it appears to be working. She'll play for an hour before work, come home, and play until ten o'clock as she noisily pops Trident. It occurs to me that if she thinks of gaming as a less addictive substance, she might be in for a grim revelation. For example, I do what she is doing now, only I don't share the nicotine precursor. I've been hooked on the shit since game systems came in wood-grain.

(CW)TB out.

like when two fireflies fluoresce