Alrighty, the next livestream is this Friday, March 15th, at 10pm est!  I’ll be doodling your suggestions, chatting it up with you guys in the comments, and playing games!  What could possibly be neater than that?

Absolutely nothing!

Or possibly some things…

Anyways, the stream can be viewed either here or here.  See you then!


In news totally unrelated to today’s strip, Rich and I just started playthrough two of our joint Borderlands save file Tuesday night.  After clearing out the last few missions in the Claptrap DLC on playthrough one, we rebooted in order to start a new game plus…

…and for some reason loaded into Tartarus Station, where the Claptrap DLC takes place.  A window popped up saying something to the effect of “you are somewhere ahead of where you should be.”  We didn’t want anything to get screwed up, so we went right to the fast travel station and warped to Fyrestone, Borderland’s opening area.

Rather than viewing the opening sequence, we were dumped right in the middle of town.

No Claptrap.

No Dr. Zed.

There were no transmissions coming through our ECHO devices, and none of the scripted sequences occurred.  All doors and gates were locked; everything was totally dead.

We were able to reboot and get things back to normal, but it was pretty weird walking around the ghost-town version of Fyrestone.

Getting to Rich’s apartment that day was equally weird.  I was standing at a crosswalk a block away from his street, waiting for the light to change, when suddenly-


The head of every single person along the sidewalk turned towards the noise.  A driver had been attempting to make a right turn, but for some reason beyond my understanding turned about ten feet too early.

She hit a parked car, and then kept on going; scraping alongside it until she either realized what was happening, or figured she had finally caused enough damage to the other vehicle.

In an entertaining twist, the driver of the parked car was still inside.

Normally when I see accidents in the city, there’s a ton of yelling and hoopla involved.

Not so this time.

The parked driver looked out the window, mouth wordlessly open in disbelief.  The offending motorist stepped out of her car, walked around and, upon viewing the damage, meekly put her head in her hands.

New York silent theater.