There's no easy way to say it...

I sometimes (okay, all the time) tend to have dreams about the most random people in my life. Personally, i think this seems normal, as there are probably thousands of people in my dreams. Assuming my subconscious is as lazy as I am, at least a fraction of these are probably pulled from already existing templates, or often, cobbled together from several. Put together with the fact that you are hypothetically going to remember a person in a dream better if you already know who they are, and you have an overwhelming majority of dreams that feature obscure characters from your life in the leading role. The mailman, the kid you sat next to in highschool English, or the girl who always manages to pull in next to you in the grocery store parking lot on Thursday nights when you run out of groceries.

The problem is, if you ever happen mention the fact that they featured heavily in a moonlit saga of Braveheart vs Rapunzel Barbie, zombie edition, it probably goes something like this:

Me: Oh, hey! Thanks for putting a plastic bag on that package you dropped off the other day, I really appreciate it!

Mailman: No problem! Just doing my job! *smileyface*

Me: Yeah but it's awesome that you really go above and beyond. So, did I get any mail today?

Mailman: Just an issue of Vanity Fair. And a bill from "Descreet Happiness". What a lovely shade of pink it's in.

Me: I know, I just love it. You know, I had the most interesting dream about you the other day.

Mailman: Oh--I--What?

Me: Wait, I mean, Jake Gyllenhaal was in it too!

Mailman: *awkward*

Me: And...there zombies?

Mailman: Auh.. Well I'll be going then.

Me: Right.

You see, while it might seem cool in your head, because Dream-Mr. Mailman totally had your back while fending off Scottish monsters, Real-Mr. Mailman thinks it's creepy that your subconscious is thinking about him. And instead of delivering things cheerfully, he's going to be cheerfully thinking about what "Descreet Happiness" really is, and how happy he is to not be related to you. And how he only has to see you when he gets paid to.

So really, you just made your mailman feel like a hooker.

Which is the real reason that no one talks about how so-and-so was in their deepest thoughts while asleep.

You know what though? Dream-you has way hotter abs than Real-you. So there.

Love bastard.

This is Babs.

Princess Babs.

Babs is a prima donna. He is also fat.

Anytime anyone eats anything, he starts to beg worse than any dog I've met, mewling and rolling on his back trying to look cute.

This is probably because he is currently on a diet.

As he is fat.

It is not entirely his fault. In fact, it is entirely my fault. You see, about a year ago, we got his man-parts removed. Apparently it is now entirely normal to chop bits off of your pets. I can see the convenience-- this is a more accurate picture of what he looked like at 5 months old:


As you can guess, I prefer my current eunuch.

And, if you think about it, most eunuchs get fat, so I think by now it's safe to say that his weight doesn't worry me. What concerns me is that he will only eat kibble. Never a scrap dropped will be eaten, never a can of tuna knocked over while I am trying to make a sandwich, never a bag of jerky broken into.

Now, it's not that he doesn't eat more expensive food. I love that my cat loves the cheap stuff. It's more that, if the world exploded and all the kibble plants were shut down, he would just lay around waiting for someone to shake some into his bowl.

Thankfully, he has recently redeemed himself. Apparently some of his survival instincts are still intact--he will beg for sushi-grade wild-caught salmon.

He wants the quantity of McDonald's burgers, or the quality of Kobe prime rib.

Stuck up little bastard.

Less than 3 hearts.

I made this about 2 years ago in a badly concerted attempt at making a webcomic.
It makes me cringe a little.
But it also still makes me laugh. Hysterically.