As a writer, I’ve come to accept that the search for inspiration can be a futile one. Inspiration isn’t something that you can sneak up on. You can’t mask your scent nor stayed down wind from it. It is a beast that stalks you and pounces when you least expect it. That is not to say you can close your eyes, ears, and mind and inspiration will devour you. No. Inspiration craves the hunt. And it only hunts those in its jungle.



Its jungle today was my fart filled ‘99 Taurus mid commute. I was listening to an old Penny Arcade podcast from eons (5 years) ago. The topic was the first Mass Effect and the mere potential for a sex scene. The resulting comic is now easily locatable in the library of congress after following a barrage of riddles located on Mason and Illuminati artifacts, or can click this link.