"Hey Rikk, how would you like to do a set of guest strips to run the week after Comic-Con? My readers are all big fans of your work. You could do... I don't know, maybe some scrawly drawings of Skull Panda eating puppies. Or guppies? I don't know. You're the expert at that kind of thing! I'm sure everyone will love it!"



-Sam



Please. I had never been so insulted. It was an affront to both the range and the depth of my enviable portfolio! Not that I expected any more from the author of Sam and Fuzzy.



But no matter. I accepted his offer all the same. For the next week, you will be treated to a sampling of my creative output at its most profound, and its most diverse. You will learn to appreciate my genius in all of its many forms. For the next week, this creative wasteland will be transformed into Rikk Estoban 101. Class is now in session.



And what better way to begin than with today's intensely personal work of genius. This comic was crafted at a time when my tragically pained life was even more pained than usual. Sometimes it takes more than an axe and a busload of strangers to work through your anger.



A new comic will be put on display every day this week. Please return tomorrow, or you will undoubtably live to regret it.



Rikk Estoban

Maybe Next Year



Right now, ladies in trim uniform should be cradling sackets of roasted legumes for my sole consumption... but no, here I am typing on Sam's beastly keyboard, crushing each key with force to break through the progressive layers of carbonated resin. It resembles Dr Pepper, but suspended within are the souls of a thousand animal crackers and oreos. The resounding CRunCK of each key smashing flat is deliciously satisfying, but I think I have some pop shards stuck in my finger.



So, you guys are stuck with me for the next week while Sam and those other fancy guys party on at Comic-Con. They might be having a good time n' all, but we're a team.



Team Maybe Next Year!





Claire