Not very punk rock, I know, but smashing the state doesn't exactly pay my rent. Or feed me. Or pay any of the rest of my bills. Or give me full medical and dental insurance. Or free coffee. As soon as any of you can find me a "cool" job that can do all this, please let me know.
The look on my face in the last panel is basically that horrific realization that I am no longer that young, and that everything I have done in my life up until this point has prepared me for absolutely nothing more than making coffee drinks for cranky people who don't know that real cappuccinos and gas station cappuccinos are in no way similar. Someone, jesus christ, please be a fan who happens to work at the art department of some big magazine that likes paying sad men like me money to draw things. Until then, I just need to tell you that yes, everyone who works there agrees that "tall", "grande", and "venti" are incredibly stupid names for sizes, and yes, we all recognize the irony in the "tall" being the smallest size. Please shut up about it.