“If music be the food of love, play on,” wrote Shakespeare, but we don’t care about that because his plays didn’t have pictures, and comics don’t have music. C.O.M.I.C.S: Come, Our Menagerie Is Crumbling Swiftly.
In December, I made a short post about what a month of comics looks like for me numbers-wise, which involved one of my favorite things: obsessing over weird shit. This month, I brought it back with 5000% more pretty graphs and exactly as much talk about ladies in comics.
Sometimes you just want to dance until your heart stops, which is impossible because you are a dancing robot, and you have no heart. You have no heart, and you must cry. You also don’t have eyes or tear ducts. So you dance. The dance you do is the robot. DUCK YOU SUCKERS, IT’S TIME FOR COMICS