It has been many weeks since I first descended into the florescent-lit Off'ice village and made first contact with its tribe.
My trials in those early days were many and merciless, and I have learned much. I have picked up smatterings of the Off'ice people's native written language, with its complex system of carbon transfer papers. I now know the thrill of returning from a successful Chipotle's hunt. The bloody consequences of touching any food bearing the inscription "DAVE'S".
Was not expecting the ritual circumcision, I will admit, but even that part wasn't too bad after the screaming stopped and I passed out.
It was... has it already been two weeks? Time grows strange in this place. Whenever it was, I was surprised and honored to be presented with a proposal by the mighty figure they refer to only in whispered tones as "H.R.": I would become a regular member of their tribe! My responsibilities would only grow with my title, Returning Temp, but they assured me my rewards would more than meet the difference.
So I write to you, my beloved brainchildren, and beg you not to despair. I am allowed short times away from my duties, and in those rare times when I do not collapse and fall instantly asleep, I will think of new stuff for you to blow up, or attempt to eat, et cetera.
I will remember.
--Your creator
TL;DR version
WORK PROMOTION appeared!
PROMOTION uses EXTRA HOURS
PROMOTION goes NOM NOM NOM
SUPER EFFECTIVE
GERBIL HAS FAINTED!
GREY BOUQUET used UPDATE!
But nothing happened...
---
Hokay. Pins and shirts ordered. New GBQ booth display sketched out.
Grey Bouquet part of Black Hat Collective booth banner (made for upcoming convention season, starting with April 29th's St. Paul Art Crawl weekend, where you can catch all of our ragtag comic artist bunch LIVE): done.
Sleeptime: emminent.
Once work's over, I mean.
