Remora front dorsal fins have evolved to enable them to adhere by suction to smooth surfaces, and they spend most of their lives clinging to a host animal such as a whale, turtle, shark or ray. It is probably a mutualistic arrangement as the remora can move around on the host, removing ectoparasites and loose flakes of skin, while benefiting from the protection provided by the host and the constant flow of water across its gills. Although it was initially believed that remoras fed off particulate matter from the host’s meals, this has been shown to be false; in reality, their diets are composed primarily of host feces.
Wikipedia, trustworthy only for anything apolitical
Matty Boy Anderson at a Trump rally in Atlanta, early 2016. “IDIFTL,” said Anderson, who has received over fifty emails a day from Donald Trump since then.
As a professional cartoonist with underground roots for over three decades, Matthew “Matty Boy” Anderson has been struggling to stay afloat in our current timeline. With censorship openly enforced by government and tech companies, multi-millionaire celebrities endorsing fascism towards their detractors, and “Redditors” eager to surrender freedom for unnecessary conveniences, how can any legitimate artist continue to make a living?
I have now passed the half-way mark on my least productive year in a decade. Even when I was practically homeless and actually starving a ways back, I was producing more work than I have this year. I know what the problem is.
A hundred years ago, if you didn’t have some source of heat in the winter, you died. That’s not allowed to happen now. If it does, the people responsible are generally punished. Despite what you might have been told, justice is served here about as well as it can be in a polity of over a quarter of a billion people.
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Come on in and grab a plate and a chair, there’s plenty of food and room at the table for all of you. Just chuck your mask in the bushes by the curb, with all the discarded latex gloves, empty sanitizer bottles and other accepted detritus of 2020. I care about coronavirus even less than my neighbors care about litter or landscape pollution.
Sometimes in life, we fashion an artistic animus that over time, becomes a cage that confines us. Sometimes we try different things to keep the animus from becoming stale, and redundant. Sometimes we overhear a song that makes us want to kill, kill, kill, until we are hip-deep in blood and viscera.
These are strange, uncertain times in which we find ourselves. I imagine you must be worried sick by now; about getting the virus, about whether there really is a virus, and about whether you’ll ever be permitted to leave your house again without dressing like part of a hazmat crew. Well buddy, I don’t mean to trivialize anyone’s neuroses, but let me tell ya, I need to fuck.
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