An Open Letter to Anton Chigurh

Dearest Anton,

The times we’ve had together have been magical. You know this as well as I do. The way that you deny country music to the elderly makes my trouser-space tight with anticipation. But there is one… problem. A minor nitpick in our “infrequent blogger”/”fictional character” relationship.

When you call me “friendo”, I get the feeling that we’re not really friends.

I mean, I know that I consider you my friend. Is the feeling not mutual? I thought we had a good thing going. Some special times, you and I. But your usage of this word puts everything into doubt.

Please respond. I am so worried that it is making me sick all the way into my deepest body parts.

Yours Always,
Charles Meyer


I really wish I knew what was going on here. I’ll have to track down the issue number and give this story a read. Really, there has to be more to The Joker’s plan than to embarrass Batman by showing the world a movie where he makes out with a goat.

Surprise Vomits

I’ve been sick for about a week, and I’ve come to an exciting conclusion regarding vomits:

The surprise vomits are the worst kind of vomits.

Normally you get a few seconds warning. You can feel it coming. You get to prepare.

Not with surprise vomits, yo. You get two coughs. Two normal coughs. The third cough, you get orange juice vomits in your beard.

And that’s just not cool, man. That’s just not cool.