It seemed appropriate that the sexiest thing that I've written to date should find its way into (as indicated above), strip number sixty-nine. It is a fortuitous number in a lot of ways, not the least of which is the fact that we now have sixty-nine comic strips that have gone from script to sketch to ink to lettering and into the wilds of the whirling maelstrom of data and porn that is the Internet. I honestly wasn't sure I was going to make it past ten when we started this little venture, but we've come a helluva long way since. I don't see myself giving up anytime soon. Not until I've milked my strange little brain completely dry of all ideas in regard to it. And even after that I'll probably keep going, just out of sheer bloody-mindedness.

There are also the more conventional concepts associated with the number sixty-nine, which I'm sure you're all aware of. For those of you who aren't...well, Wikipedia knows all things.

We've been getting a lot of Melody touching herself this week, it occurs to me. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that, mind you. Just an observation. A bosomy, blonde observation. The kind of observation Brighton would rather like to make, if it weren't for pesky things like "road safety" and "traffic laws" and "vehicular manslaughter".

She'll get her chance, though. She might leap fully-formed from my brain, as Athena did from Zeus's head, and strangle me in my sleep if I didn't see to that.