I refuse to break this profile up into smaller paragraphs that are easier on your eyes. I am a mean Jhonen. To you, this profile is more likely to be a pleasant diversion from your hideous day, something to make the pain of being flogged by baboons a little more bearable. But to me, reading through your fanfictions, I see a bit more than just the comics and words and the love that I created- I see all of my eye-swelling, stomach-churning work going down a rather intriguing drain. The things that were going on in the times when I was working on a particular page, or even laying down a specific line. The countless times I raised my head from the desk to see the moon floating out THERE from the window before me. The 3 A.M. drives to get food for my poor, neglected tummy. Cutting my hand wide open on a glass and cursing to nothing but the wound. Staying up for three days, finishing a book, rolling around on the floor and moaning between panels, and screaming with exhaustion upon finishing that morning. Driving home in morning traffic and watching the faces of all the people whose days were just beginning. Smiling after purchasing one of those Slurpees that just make your day a good thing. Finally, putting down my pens for the night having had no contact, and telling it only to the little spider that had spun up on the ceiling. Pulling the stitches from my hand with an old pair of scissors. The countless hours of nonstop sound beaming from the stereo and directly into my brain. The sounds of the endless mystery cars behind the freeway wall. The constant stream of disturbing monkey imagery that runs through my head. Drinking that hot chocolate outside watching the sky get brighter. The giggling fits, over new ideas, that only serve to fill my own ears. The giant black widow spider adventure. My battle with the kitchen ants. The shower with no hot water in the dead of winter. The person who told me their lust was on me. "Dope-Ass." No, Roman, he wasn't really a pig boy. The magical Z! All of the DOOM. Getting my Bob's Big Boy. The inbred people at Chevron. Knowing there'll be a time when I'm done.

And then, you all will proceed to consume and spew my stories back at one another with maniacal glee, cackling as you fill the Internet with more beautiful crap then I could possibly have imagined.

Kudos.

Disclaimer: Nickelodeon and Viacom own everything that makes money. If you see someone who looks Nick-related, punch them in the kidneys.

...I just own myself.