It is true that I am constantly enraged at the success of such painfully mediocre writers as those that saturate the dreaded “Young Adult” section of the bookstore. I have read the great masters and studied various genres and techniques and experimented and always considered myself falling short, so I have razed and rebuilt and tried to be the most versatile and technically proficient writer I could, whether it was as an essayist, novelist, humorist or role-player. While it is true that I have little to no accolades for my efforts and go duly unrecognized, I still hold myself with a least a shred of high regard for putting himself on the path to literary elite. It is rather fun being a literary snob, both in practice and consumption. Therefore, cunts who write boring teenage romance that spits on gothic horror tradition and make millions with their dumb ideas, stale characters and bad prose tend to irk me.
But then I remember for all my posing and arrogance, I use my talents trying to work puns like “Frankenstayn Rand” or “Batman and Les Miserobin” into three-panel jokes that nobody will find funny or even read.
A martyr am I.
The colors are really jarring here. I can’t tell if there’s a joke or not because I can’t look at the comic long enough to read it. I’m assuming that the dialogue is probably some kind of Jungle 2 Jungle X D3: The Mighty Ducks slash fiction but I can’t be sure.