A simple comic today, but one full of mystery and pantheological invocations. I have always said that if you're going to take the name of one god/religious figure in vain, you should do so with them all. I'm an equal opportunity blasphemer, you see. It may guarantee that I'm fucked, but by Zeus, I'll be fucked equally.

In any case, you shall have to wait until sometime down the line to discover precisely what has the living bejeezus terrified out of Quin. While it is nothing Cthulhoid--this isn't that sort of comic, "that sort" being the kind where vaginas have long prehensile clitorides and tentacular labia--I can assure you that Quin's discomfiture is of the sensible sort. While "Quin" and "sensible" don't generally fall into the same sentence on a regular basis (at least, not willingly), you can only imagine the sort of basic level he must be functioning on here.

As I'm sitting here typing this newspost, I'm also working to get @jillothewisp's computer to work. I have resuscitated that laptop many times over the past year, and I have no reason to imagine that this time will be any different. At the moment, though, it seems hell-bent on overheating, so I have taken a break from that noble pursuit to compose this most honorable tract.

Running off the concept of long-held beliefs from earlier, I have another that I keep close to my heart: that personal space is sacrosanct. I do not go around my office randomly grabbing things off other people's desks to fondle them, and I expect people to offer me the same courtesy. Evidently I have sorely underestimated some people's capacity for reciprocation in that regard. Being nosy is one thing. I can deal with being nosy. Some people can't help themselves. They absolutely must know things, or I suppose they can't sleep at night, or some such thing. I view it as a kind of obsessive compulsion, because it graduates from mere curiosity the moment the person being interrogated becomes so desperate to avoid the next question that they begin to try giving off psychic waves of unwelcoming.

It never ceases to amaze me how a person (for argument's sake, a woman) will continue to ask inane questions when the person (for argument, a man) in front of her is clearly making every human effort to kill her with his brain, squinty eyes and all. But nosiness is a little bit like the tort of the office environment--disliked but not really damaging. When I have actually told you that I consider other people's spaces to be their own, and that I don't care to simply barge into a cubicle and have my way with the contents while someone is working in it, yet you still see fit to wander over and take highly-prized possessions off of my desk without my permission while I'm sitting there looking on unbelieving...that's when you start arcing into felony territory. That's when you cross the line from "nosy" to "public menace".

And yes, if you're wondering, "clitorides" is indeed a plural of "clitoris". The alternative was "clitorises" which, you have to admit, just isn't as much fun.