Muffins, meetings, and being bored out of my mind.

Coworker: “When were these muffins left on my desk?”
Me: “There are muffins on your desk?!
Coworker: “You don’t remember when they arrived?”
Me: “I would remember muffins arriving. Because I would have eaten all of them before you arrived.”

I then ate one. Blueberry!


These are two entirely separate doodles joined with throwaway text.

I’ll bet the animal meeting was mostly them having off-topic conversations with each other, followed by five minutes of rapid-fire slapdash decision-making.

Boring, boring, boring; “can we just fucking vote to get this over with?”; boring, boring.


Other cultures have much warmer and more colorful motifs than ours.

This is what white people are like:


Super-boring. Nary a pattern or color in sight.

Take the Pilgrims, for example:

Boring, boring, boring; horrible decision to commit genocide; boring, boring.

When I was a teenager, my grandfather married a woman who called herself Marmee and named her four daughters after the Little Women. At Thanksgiving, she and her numerous offspring (and grand-offspring) sang this prayer in unison — while my family cowered, silently, in the Atheist Corner.

Boring, boring, boring; horrible decision to commit group singsong prayer; boring, boring.

Maybe the problem is me. Maybe that’s why I love drawing, Tetris, Minesweeper, and Candy Crush┬áso much. Speaking of which, I need to go try to beat level 147 for the millionth time this week.