Putting the 'crap' in narcicrapssism
Pull your shirt up.
I don't care if you're at work. Go for it. If you're wearing a button-up shirt, just undo the bottom couple of buttons and pull 'er open a bit. C'mon. I can wait.
(singing tira lira lura, tira lira ly, tira lira lura, it's an Irish lullaby...)
Quasi-autobiographical comics come with a risk alert stamped on the box: "Warning: may be needlessly introspective, self-conscious, ceaselessly overnarrative." "Show, don't tell" becomes "Tell, tell, then show your head. And other heads." The desire to impose story upon life, unassisted and unmitigated, pollutes the anecdote. (Alternatively, one might simply make everyone housemates and inject giant robots, at which point all bets are off.)
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