Right so, I have this friend who-

Whoa, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa… whoa, whoa. Whoa,” you bleat, holding up your cloven hoof and shaking it about signalling me to pause my stream of eternal wisdom. “You? Friends?”

Yes, well, your point is taken. I use “friend” in this context to apply to anyone that I’ve encountered and haven’t eaten yet, though not for a lack of trying. The blonde fellow up there is loosely based on one of those hard to eat individuals. Now, back then, when the idea of this comic was but a parasitic larva worming though my skull, the individual always wore the exact same thing: a ski jacket, blue jeans, and a believable suit of human skin tightly wrapped around his skeletal structure. He’s moved onto a different stage of metamorphosis since then, using a “classier” disguise when moving in on his prey. It utilizes a top hat to offset the horrible tentacles.

Wanted Preferably Dead.

He still lives to this day, as scary as it sounds. One night you’ll open your front door and this face is just staring back at you, tentacles writhing. Next thing you know, it’s morning, all your towels are gone and several of your doors have been reversed. No one knows why, and nobody wants to find out.

You’re going to unfortunately see more of him, if anything. Dare you come back Wednesday?