2992 Overmatched.

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I decided to jump back to Nina’s tummy uniform. It’s not like we haven’t seen some version of it in a while, but in the store I’ve tended to have her wear clothes that actually meet the dress code. I started the comic right at the beginning of the rise of nagging online feminism and over time that kind of thing gets to you. At this point I really don’t care all that much about how people who already predisposed to hate my work feel about it, me, or much of anything. They’ve treated me terribly for two decades and there’s nothing you can do to ever appease them, so there’s no point in trying. In years past I tried to play nice and get along with other creators only to be sneered at, mocked, disregarded, and abandoned at every turn. I’ve done just fine as a man apart for many years now, so it’s pretty clear I never needed those people or their approval. While they had crowdfunds to pay their rent, medical bills, and what have you, I’ve kept plugging along and paid off all my disasters myself. I’ve always thought of that kind of thing as an absolute last resort. My nature is to always expect things to find a way to get even worse, so having that in my back pocket is more important for my mental state than not suffering through years of medical bills. In fairness though I have more help in everyday things than most people, so I accept that my comparisons may be unfair on some level. That said, I’ve also given up a lot to gain that continual aid that most people couldn’t tolerate. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, as they say. In any case I’m at a point where I am even more hard put to tolerate fools than ever before. I may have finally crested that point of age where the threat of everything falling apart in to a final crescendo just doesn’t matter all that much to me anymore.
All humans are catty to one degree or another. The playground squabbles don’t go away with age, or profession, they evolve like pokemon into ever grander forms with different names. Professionalism is a joke. It’s artifice. A mask people put on to seem like they are above you while they delve into the depths of maliciousness when they aren’t in anyone’s direct line of sight. I’ve more than proven that I understand the agency of women, and people in general, more than most people can claim. So I’m not particularly disposed to tolerate criticism of how I choose to depict anything I feel like. Humans come with such an astonishingly vast array of differences you can write damn near any stupid shit and chances are an actual human somewhere on the planet has actually done it. As long as you stay within the laws of physics the law of averages will prove you right in at least a few cases. On the other side humans are also basically the same and can find something to identify with in even the craziest of characters. That’s what humanity is like. Two completely opposing forces existing inside every one of us at all times. Don’t get confused though. I’m not saying that these things justify any bad writing I do. I’m saying I don’t care if you think I’m bad at writing. The same people who got rich making Game Of Thrones are also the ones who augured it into the ground in the final season. If I manage to stay just outside of the boundaries of a fuck up that monumental I think I’m doing just fine, thank you very much. If I don’t, well, it was fun while it lasted.

Anyway, I will leave you to your own devices over the weekend. Although I’ll have to get the Patreon stuff sorted before Sunday I suppose. I kept hoping a moment to get that done early would present itself but, like so many months before, the moment never arrived. So now I must carve the time out on my own at the end when I would rather take my time and do a good job. It is, as they say, what it is. I really want to draw that little interaction between Ramon and Evrina though. I guess we’ll see how things go. In any case stay safe over the intervening days and return safe to me on Monday. Until then, notice the loamy soil between your toes.