I tried to draw Eva. It didn't work out like I wanted it to.

This strip is sort of a culmination of all the weird crap that goes on at the local Perkin's here.Which is partly why we go there. Last time, it was the freakish waiter. I don't remember what he said, but when he did say the equivalent of "What would you like to order" in pseudo-clever stupid speech, I had no idea what he had just said. Nijyo stared at him for a full 10 seconds, then I had to scream "STOP CHANGING THE PARADIGM!!"

Look, I'm all for creativity and moving away from formulas, but some things ya don't mess wit. Like waiter-speech. It's like a sacred dialogue that has remained unchanged for millenia--the slightest shift will result in utter chaos, calling on the dark gods of destruction who have, until now, been imprisoned and the universe kept in the precarious balance of order.

I wish we HAD fireballed the guy. Or maybe a Dragon Slave. Or a nice Kame Hame Ha Wave.

Well, the week before the entire Perkin's staff had to wait 20 minutes before seating anyone--their windshields had all been broken in the parking lot, and they all had to cry.

I'm not kidding. About thirteen people in maroon shirts and frilly aprons, red-faced with tears spraying everywhere. The water-pressure in those tear ducts must have made your average fire hydrant blush in embarrasment.

About a year ago, Perkin's had gotten downright scary--apparently the local chapter of the Aryan Brotherhood had moved in to take over management. I walked in with Nijyo, and I felt like a racial minority--my eyes being green and my hair brown, rather than platinum blond and steely blue. I was a little flustered when our waitress arrived to take our order, and she was a six-foot Teutonic milk-maid with wrists the thickness of my NECK. (And I thought I was beefy . . .) We had to wonder where all these employees were recruited--er, hired from. The town in which this place is located, in the last five years, has become predominantly Hmong and Somalian in the demographic sense. Which is entirely for the good, if you ask me . . . Mmmmm, brown.

Anyway . . . Before that, this is getting on to be a few years ago, now, one of the head waitresses was --I SWEAR--the original Pink Ranger from Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. Even to the point of doing faux-martial arts stances while filling orders. And the night manager looked like one of the back-up singers from Cradle of Filth--inky-dyed black hair, black eyeliner, and piercings in places I didn't even know people had places--she managed to make even the Perkin's uniform look sinister.

Damn, now I'm hungry