This is a sketch Codex doodled out for scale and experimentation with accessories. Our “sketch pile” is getting smaller, as our backlog of “official comics” is starting to grow. We want to be working three or four weeks ahead before publishing. At two strips per week, that’s only 8 comics.
The new banner was a major chunk of work. Codex put in another day cleaning up the rough draft we published. One more major chunk remains: the first “official” comic, which is something a bit different than what we’ve done in the past. Hopefully :::crosses fingers::: that will be done this week.
Codex has been drawing up a storm, and the new Header is nearly done. But hoo-boy is it a doozy to execute. Hence the late comic: it’s Monday, but barely.
As you are aware, communism has recently been disavowed as our public political philosophy. The Nomenclative Purification Committee, a subgroup working on behalf of the Central Church of the Narrative Administrative Committee, has been debating a suitable replacement word for the salutation given in this very letter. It is, in fact, the last time it will be used in any communication by I or our fellow Narrativists; written or verbal.
Unfortunately, by using it in the salutation above, I have already violated Directive 15, subparagraph 1,703 D. See below.
The NPC has arrived at an impasse over the replacement term. It seems that half (the smart half) want to use the word Peerkin. This term is gender-neutral, stresses equity, and provides a familial tone that is of comfort to many. As you know, Narrativists are often threatened by their own families before and after they join our church.
The other half, who tend to be among our lower, less-enlightened ranks, insist that the term Mobling be used. This word is not only more descriptive, its adherents claim, but contains “truth”. “Truth” is problematic. In fact, we hold no truths. Rather, our truths change to fit The Narrative. You’d think they’d be capable of reading the sign to that effect above the sanctuary door. Several ridiculous third and fourth parties continue to lobby for alternative language choices, not that anyone is going to listen to them.
What is your say on this matter, my fellow Peerkin? Or should it be fellow Mobling? Please submit your response to the NPC post-haste.
I must now request absolution. I addressed you using the word right-wing opponents have always used to refer to one another, signalling their fascist in-group preferences: comrade. The Fairness and Forgiveness Committee, a subgroup working on behalf of the Central Church of the Narrative Administrative Action Committee, has passed judgment.
I am to proceed immediately to the nearest Starbucks, order a mondo-size Blonde Vanilla Bean Coconutmilk Latte, and imbibe the concoction in their public restroom. Should I survive, which seems unlikely, I will be welcomed back into the good graces of the Church.
Should I never see you again, please remember my final words: All Hail the Narrative!
Mild-mannered soil scientist Jack Broccoli is an unlikely candidate for James Bond-esque action hero. But double-digging turnip beds has toned his physique. The Filipino Butcher Masters martial arts exercise video series has honed his warrior mindset. So when Jack is targeted by the sinister agents of F.A.D.A.M., he’s ready:
As he day-dreamed about fighting off a horde of ninjas with a spading fork, Jack suddenly heard a click at the window of the room. Then another, followed by a scratching sound, as if the glass were being cut. Then a piece of glass fell to the carpet, and the window swung open through the curtains.
A man stood in the room with him ….
The man was the same size as Jack, but he had a defensive stance, which made Jack wonder if he was overmatched. Maybe he just came to take the TV. The man said something through the mask to Jack in badly accented English. It sounded like “Ukon wis mao”.
“I’m not sure what you said, “Jack replied, as his eyes darted around the room, looking for something he could use as a weapon. “Do you want to take the TV?” The man shook his head and took a step toward Jack.
“UKONWISMEAOW!” he commanded.
“Yukon whiz meow?”
The man ripped off his mask. He must be Korean, Jack thought, though to his undiscriminating eye, he might also be Japanese, Laotian, Cambodian, Taiwanese, Vietnamese, Tibetian, Thai, Indonesian, Chinese, Pacific Islander, or Cherokee.
“You come. With me. Now!”
“Out the window?” Jack said incredulously.
“No, out the door!” the man snapped.
Okay. Maybe not completely ready.
If you read just one hilariously epic gardening spy thriller this year: Read Jack Brocolli #1: Turned Earth.
Addendum: Despite the heavy-duty action scenes and ancillary Bond babe hotness, this is a book you can give to your 14-year-old daughter. Ours loved it.
Tempest in a Teardrop: The Churchians 