A comic about life, love, death, and grammar, in about three colors.
CENSORED Dude, you should totallyput me in your comic. Dude, no. Our conversationsare boring. You aren't funny.You aren't interesting either. Quite frankly, you're painfullyone dimensional. But I can'tbe bothered to properly drivethis point through your skull. Which is why I've askedChimpanzee Cary Grantto come speak with you. Where did you get thatface? Hollywood?



Well, here we are, four months in. Personally, I’m very proud of how the comic has developed. Visitors, too, seem to be enjoying it. Without any promotion, I’ve managed to snag about three-hundred regular readers and about twice as many comers-and-goers.

The formula is simple: Each comic is a scene from my life. A tidbit of a conversation, a rendering of a thought, etc. I don’t have to seek out material; it comes from being alive. Easy! Haha.

What I hadn’t counted on are the swarms of distant acquaintances begging to be added to the strip. They aren’t friends. They aren’t people who normally talk to me or read the strip (let alone understand it). They are friends of friends of friends, in-laws of in-laws of in-laws, co-workers of remote primates who know me through convoluted associations and relations.

Let me clear this up for the record: Fuck you.

Pop Culture Tragedy is the story of my life. The people that appear within it are part of my life. If you have to ask to be included, you aren’t a part of it.

If you’re just looking for a three-color portrait, say so. I’ll do it for $50.

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