It's ten minutes till closing time and I'm the last person left in my four story office building. Everyone else has gone home for the holiday, leaving just me to mind the place until close. I feel like I'm in the opening scenes of a Die Hard-type action flick or a horror movie. I'm leaning towards action flick because I'd have to be a chick for this set-up to work as a horror movie. And I'm totally not a chick. At all.

What was that noise? I think it's the euro-trash terrorists. Time to go.

Is there a gaudier party holiday than New Year's Eve? Being a child of the 70's I associate the end of year celebrations with brightly colored cardboard hats with gold tinsel sticking out the top. Obnoxious noises from paper horns that turn to wet pulp in your mouth. Bad food (I spent one New Year's Eve in the basement of a family friend's house eating those awful candy dots stuck to paper. I was eating sugared paper basically.) resting uneasily in a tired stomach. Dick Clark. Wolfman Jack. Rick James. Disco. This is what I think of.

In my mind's eye I'm taller. Sometimes I look at a photo of myself and am shocked at how stocky I look. I wonder where the rest of my neck is and how in the hell my chin and jawbone got so swollen. It's really unnerving.
I must picture myself as a widesrceen person stretched to fit a television screen. Or a space alien. You know, like that first Close Encounter alien that stepped off the mothership. But paler. And with pants.

Discuss the greater implications of this post here.

These were all inked by Jim Hill-

Starting January this will be my dumping grounds. A little boutique for comic strips, writings and experiments.
I have nothing else to say.

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Update.

This is not for public consumption.

This is a test. This is only a test.