When you're not quite ready to dive right back into the depravity of Jesse Custer's universe, what do you do?
You turn to the master of apathy, the sovereign of surl.
Clowes is king.
A daisy kind of day and follicles the mater described as "thunder hair".
Perhaps caused by the clap of thunder so loud it woke me from humid dreams - not an easy feat, there's a fair chance i'd sleep right through the zombie apocalypse - and scared the cowering crap out of the feline demon we like to call "The Charlie Bear".
My cat is all mouth - which is usually wrapped around someone's ankle - and no furry trousers.
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