Why must I be the one who has to know?

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

Fucking fucker fuck.

I'm gonna lose my fucking job.

Fucking fucker fucking fuck fucker fuck.

Alright, calm down Dean.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

In through the nose….

….out through the mouth.

Fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucki-

Enough!

Get your fucking head in the game.

All they gave you was a 'bird themed horror' because all of a sudden comic readers were on a Hitchcock kick.

And you gave those fuckers A Raven's Bleeding Wings.

They wanted 'Saw On A Boat' and you hand delivered them The Siren's Call.

What about an action adventure to attract all ages?

Boom. The Broken Wasp.

All hits. All 're-inventors of the genre'.

So all they need now is…boobs?

Boobs and butts? Some dicks too?

You know what, fine. I can handle that.

I can handle that.

Fuck no I can't. This is bullshit.

You don't ask an offensive linemen to suddenly shoot free throws.

You don't ask a baker to change your fucking transmission.

Or do you? If you do you're a dick.

The same kind of dick that asks someone to go from action, horror, and a gore fest to lovey dovey bullshit.

The same kind of dick I probably have to think about now and what that dick is going into.

Come on man, I wanted a simple weekend.

So what or who on earth can I use to help with this?

I have female coworkers. We are all cool and work well together. But it's not like we are friends or anything.

I doubt any of them would find it super flattering if I ask them to put down in words what doing the dirty feels like.

It would be a genuine honest question, but who's gonna believe that?

I'll be talking to Human Resources quicker than I can drink a gallon of bleach to end my embarrassment.

I have male coworkers too, I'd imagine they'd be more willing to hear me out.

But the second you confess to male coworkers you haven't even hit first base yet, they'll harass you until your wake.

At the funeral they'll be respectful.

But they will lean into your open coffin the night before and then ask your dead body if it got any Angel pussy yet.

So how about friends?

Oh right. Friends.

The thing someone who doesn't live to work on web comics and nothing else would have.

Come on, who do you think you're talking to?

I've been thrashing around exposition like a tether ball, that obviously means I don't have a super large social life.

But you know what, that's fine.

It's always been fine.

I have my name on three super awesome webcomics.

There's a piece of paperwork that shows a super nice suv is mine.

If you go to my address, you'll find an awesome studio apartment cluttered with my notes and ideas.

I'm not complaining anytime soon.

Well, except four minutes ago. I was complaining a lot actually.

Fuck, I'm gonna complain again.

How the fuck can I do this?

If I fail, that nice suv is a cube to be melted into soda cans.

My apartment won't be awesome and cluttered with notes.

My cluttered notes will be my apartment.

There's so much riding on this, I already know.

They got three good ones out of me.

But if this fourth one flops, I'm out the door.

I know how these things work. They don't care what you have done or what you will do.

They only care about what you are doing now.

And if what I'm doing now is tripping over my feet trying to write and direct a faux porn, I'm no more better than a cow with no udders.

Well then again that's just a bull.

Kind of like this situation. A big ass bunch of Bull.

Here I am. This apartment I can't stop raving about apparently.

My bag gets thrown onto the side of the couch I don't use, and my jacket goes on top of it.

This is Friday. It's the weekend baby.

That normally means my shoes fly off, a beer bottle loses its cap, and I feel mighty fine catching up on my shows.

But. This isn't a normal Friday.

This is the first Friday that will start to what could potentially be the end of my goddamn life.

Let's see, it's five - forty eight.

Pizza place is still open, I'll order some delivery.

I've got some of my drinking juice in the fridge still.

And no it's not my relaxing beers. It's the wimpy ass lemonades with some alcohol in them.

You know, the ones that Gen-X refers to as beers since they can't handle the taste of bread.

Those were my drinking juices.

Sometimes the flavor and feeling of them gave me some unique words or phrases to go off of.

'Hmm. These black raspberry ones tastes like a crumbly danish. Wait, crumbly? Crumbly like a poor foundation!'

And bobs your uncle.

I'm probably gonna need a few of these.

I cleared off my kitchen table, sat my ass down, and got to thinking.

"Alright. Alright. Come on. Sexy."

And I'm drawing blanks immediately.

"Fuck this isn't working."

I'm starting with a strawberry one.

Hmm. Strawberry. Sweet, and honestly kind of smooth.

Sweet and smooth, that can be sexy right? What's sexier than alliteration?

Oh geez Dean, I don't know.

Maybe a blowjob.

Let me.. wait it's gone already?

Woof, I rarely ever drink these this fast.

Well I mean, they aren't that strong. The pizza isn't here yet, so I've still got time to weakly booze away.

Let's see, let's try this orange one.

Oh geez, I can tell this one is a lot more fizzy.

Hmm. It's good. But god, that level of carbonation is enough to take flight.

Take flight. Rising. Flying.

Flying…feels good right?

Well I know turbulence doesn't.

Oh, turbulence? Shaky business?

Nah, sounds like a Rob Schneider dvd.

I didn't even bring up the flavor of the orange, let me take another-

Whoa, how is this one empty already?

I took like three sips, what are these drinks? The bagged chips of alcohol?

Well at least the pizza is here. And man, he is knocking super loudly, what the fuck?

"I'm c-coming!"

Ow, who put that coffee table there?

And why does this carpet feel so slippery?

"Good evening sir."

"What's up bro?"

"Uh… nothing much. You're the bacon and mushroom right?"

"That's…. me."

Man, my hiccups taste like a smoothie now.

"That'll be eighteen dollars and thirty seven cents."

"Here's a twenty brother, keep the change."

I never call people brother. It's just the reds and yellows I'm seeing remind me of Hulk Hogan.

"Thank you sir, have a goodnight."

"You…too bud."

Alright. Nourishment acquired.

Let's pop this bad boy open.

Oh man, that smells good.

This will go great with a Blueberry dr-

Okay, hold the fucking phone.

I haven't drank a blueberry one yet, why is there an empty one on the table?

"Hey! Who drank this blueberry?"

Wait, drank?

Drank. Drank as in… god what does 'drank' have anything to do with sex?

This is pointless.

I've been sitting here eating pizza and drinking three…. Five juices and have absolutely no more progress.

And woof. I'm beat, and for some reason the apartment is spinning again.

"What is with…. Juice and… uh…"

Where was I?

What was I?

Who are you? Get out of my apartment.

Oh right my apartment!

My bedroom should be…somewhere down there.

Down that hallway in this studio apartment with a hallway.

Yeah… studio hallways.

And whoa, why is the corner of my dresser coming at me?