Riveting.

Not as exciting as you would have liked it to be, I'm sure, but I've gotta cram some exposition in here somewhere. I don't want FT to descend into Friends territory where everyone tuning in eventually winds up wondering, "When do these people work to pay for their apartments and shit? All they do is have sex and snark at each other." I like to keep at least one foot planted firmly in reality, is what I'm getting at. The other foot goes where it goes, but the one foot keeps it real. And I think that Kent's serious case of bedhead in the second panel is about as real as it gets.

At the least, rest assured that this is the sort of strip that is a setup for another story arc, and will flow much better with things many weeks from now when it is firmly embedded in the site's archives.

I tweeted Monday about how it was the first day of school at the university I've been going to for the past five years, and how strange it felt not being in attendance. That feeling of strangeness has not abated. It's as though I'm living in some sort of surreal, lawless pocket dimension wherein playing perpetual hooky is a perfectly acceptable course of action. Even though I didn't even register for classes this fall, I still somehow feel that I'm pulling a Ferris Bueller and that the truancy officers will be coming for me any day now.

It almost seems like I should pour a forty on the curb in memory of my college days. If I lived in "the 'hood" and not in a relatively decent suburban neighborhood, I would probably do so. As it is, I think emptying a bottle of cheap malt liquor into the street would not go over well with the neighbors. Especially because then I would have to explain to them why I was doing so, and I have enough trouble staying out of the nuthouse when I'm merely up to my normal weirdness.