Obviously.

The pizza delivery driver was murdered. It will be the cat detective’s toughest case yet. This is a very meta comic.

Here, I clicked the link so you don’t have to.

My low expectations for this iteration just got lower. Thankfully I have a long-running FM24 save that’s still feeding my addiction.

Hard to find list that differentiates between “strongest hurricane” and “hurricane that caused the most damage,” but I think this article has it.

But hey, at least we got to sell more ad space by printing another article about it…

And that’s why you always leave a note!

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Shocked gasp!

Here’s a more in-depth article, with pictures.

9 inches.

Le articlé

To save you a click, no one is ever happy now.

The original Ernie Bushmiller ones are good, and the modern day Olivia Jaimes ones are good, but the middle period of Guy Gilchrist is junk.

I was going to counter with, “what about Real Time w/ Bill Maher,” but I’ve never actually seen that show so you’re still correct.

My old home town’s cemetery is in the shadow the soybean processing plant.

There is an odor.

There’s a part in Dante’s Inferno where Dante sees a guy he used to know in Hell and he’s bummed out, but his guide Virgil says, “That guy is in Hell because God wants him here. Who the F are you to question the will of God? Maybe you should just stay in Hell yourself if you think you’re so smart…” and Dante has to backtrack and be like, “No, you’re right, fuck that guy.”

/I know Dante’s Inferno isn’t technically Catholic doctrine, it’s just fanfic that became so popular people can’t separate it from the canon.

I am a project manager and I too don’t know what I do all day.

Loved Cryptonomicon. Have you read his Baroque Cycle? It deals with some similar themes and ancestors of the same families around the turning of the 18th century.

My Teacher Flunked the Planet, by Bruce Coville.

The final book in the My Teacher is an Alien series, it follows a group of 6th graders who are tasked to explore the best and worst of humanity in order to help defend our right to exist to an intergalactic council of aliens that fears us. It deals with some pretty heavy fucking themes that have stuck with me since I first read it at the age of 10.

“Forty thousand,” said Duncan. His eyes were closed, as if he were reading from a page inside his head.

“What?” asked Susan.

“Forty thousand,” he repeated. “That’s how many kids die every day from things that could be changed if we, all of us, the people of Earth, decided they should be.”

I took in a sharp breath; forty thousand people was more than twice the population of Kennituck Falls.

“Forty thousand a day,” continued Duncan relentlessly. “That’s a quarter of a million a week. Over a million a month. Nearly fifteen million a year. They die from not having vaccines that cost less than a dollar apiece. They die from dirty wells and lack of food. They die from the fact that people don’t care, at least, not enough to change it.”

Duncan sat frozen, as if in a trance. Tears leaked from beneath his lowered eyelids, cutting paths through the dust of the camp that still covered his cheeks. His voice was like the voice of God, listing our sins.

“Last year, fourteen million children died because we earthlings decided to spend our money elsewhere. It happened the year before, too. And we’re going to let it happen again this year.”

Suddenly he opened his eyes and looked right at me. “Peter, I learned a lot in the last few weeks. I read more than you can imagine.I have millions of facts in my head that I’m trying to put together. I don’t know what it all means, but I know the numbers. I know one day’s worth of the money our world spends on guns and bombs and soldiers could save fifty million children over the next ten years.”

As Duncan spoke I had a vision, a fantasy, that the people of Earth - not the leaders, not the governments, just the people - were suddenly able to speak with one voice. And they said, “Enough. We don’t want it to be this way anymore. Make it right!”

But we couldn’t speak with one voice. For some reason we were no better than mute in the face of a disaster we all wanted to pretend wasn’t happening.

I was sick with shame and anger. And I knew that I would never be the same after that night.

I had been witness to a crime.

Now I would have to testify to what I had seen. Because to keep silent would also be a crime.