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(Transcript and visual captions below}

Jack rolled off the makeshift bed in the store room-- a few blankets covering some crates of lager. Luckily being undead let him wake up without a screaming back ache. Helen had been a gracious host, despite the unromantic guest room. Most importantly, he felt safe there. The humdrum evenings of lousy sitcoms and Darren noodling on the guitar were a welcome normalcy. His return to his friends had been awkward, but it was already feeling like things were settling down. He hadn't gotten to see Tristan yet, but was sure word had gotten out. Helen promised not to tell Vitus he was staying there, but it wasn't like that dude even cared.
Whatever. It wasn't his business anymore.

In which steam cleaning works wonders.

Jack was worried for a moment. He'd tried to deflect that clown comment, but Darren rolled his eyes around in confusion. Did he know something? Had he figured something out?

"...It's always gotta be a dick joke with you, doesn't it?"

Jack dropped his shoulders in relief, "Man you tell like ten dick jokes a night."

"It's not the same, it's like... if I was making dead baby jokes, and you were a dead baby. No, wait. You loved dead babies? Ew. Nevermind."

Jack came to sit on the patio's ledge, this place was crazy posh, and it was his. Not like the Sombreta estate. This was weird. Really weird. What if the clown did come around, could he do something about it now? What could he even do, exactly?

Darren leaned next to him, "So it's really true, the bigger the better huh?"

"What? Oh, dicks? Nah it's like... okay it's probably how you feel about boobs. Big ones have an immediate visual appeal of course, but all of them have their own unique merit. It depends on what you want to do with them, and it's really more about the general aesthetic appeal and what works for a given person."

Darren got a far away look, "Wow. I learned something today."

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     December 25th, 2013
     By:  Kelly

Merry Godmas y'all! Thanks to Christopher for the holiday cheer and shit. We raced to see who could get done first, him with those or me with the comic and I WON! Oh yeah, feels good. I hope you all have the least terrible holiday-esque things ever, and eat something nice. <3 <3 <3

By the way, looking up reference for long johns is extremely distracting.

            TRANSCRIPT: This is the text of the comic, for purposes such as translation and internet searches.


(Jack is laying across the laps of Helen and Darren, wearing a red tank top and green long johns, holding a finger up for Helen to wrap her yarn around while knitting. They look zonked out under the dull blue glow of the TV.)

TV:Next up, a three hour marathon of Necromancer Island!


(On the TV screen, a man in a dark suit makes menacing arcane gestures while lightning flashes behind him.)

TV: Starring... Desiderio Stackpole



(Darren relives some disillusionment while Helen tries to take his guff with good humor.)

DARREN: I can’t believe you got that from this cheesy ol’ shit.

HELEN:What? This is classic televisual entertainment.


(Turning away from one sourpuss to another, Helen smiles at Jack.)

HELEN: How does the apartment hunt go, sweetie?

JACK: Worse than I’d imagined. Being poor sucks.


(Earlier that day, Jack is being walked through a creepy, crusty apartment.)

APARTMENT GUY: It just needs a little steam cleaning and--


(After that in an even filthier place, a lady is trying to sell him on the unsellable.)

APARTMENT LADY: I’m told the scent will be gone after the steam cleaning!


(At yet another place, Jack seems paralyzed in an ambiguous flavor of shock, hands braced to block an attack from below, too late...)

APARTMENT LADY 2: Um, our cockroaches don’t usually go up pant legs...


(Back at Helen's, the three discuss options.)

HELEN: Dang, well what now?

JACK: *sigh* Demetri got me a place.

DARREN: It better not suck as bad as the last one.


(Later, Darren and Jack are in a spacious modern apartment, with some carpets and walls decorated in a large thistle motif, black on white.
Darren leans on the wall, and Jack has a hand on his hip. He's wearing a t-shirt now, black with green letters reading "CAT" and a monstrous shape that doesn't quite read as a cat.

DARREN: You’ve got a sugar daddy, dude.

JACK: Don’t start!


(The sass-fest continues.)

DARREN: Anyway, this place is pretty dope. When do I move in?

JACK: Maybe you should get your own sugar daddy.

DARREN: Hell, sign me up.


(Darren and Jack are checking out the large, fancy balcony, and gesturing at unseen enemies with finger guns. Darren has two, Jack one..)

DARREN: I need a gat for clown attacks. Maybe you get a little one. Pow pow!

JACK: I can handle big ones. Pow pow.

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