I’m back, fuckers.
I am as terrifying as I am strangely proportioned.
As some of you may remember, I kept a blog during the last years of my undergraduate degree and the first years of my brief-yet-terrifying foray into adult life. That blog can still be found right here, for your perusing pleasure. I named it after myself, because I dramatically overestimated how many people could both spell and pronounce “Comeau”, and I mostly used it to write snarky reviews of bad horror movies, because my only goal in this life is to own the world’s largest collection of hate mail from angry men who can’t believe that I don’t appreciate the subtle artistry and daring cinematography of “Grave Encounters 2”.
Mission fucking accomplished.
I had a lot of fun writing my other blog. I didn’t have a lot of fun with the blogging platform. Despite being named after its sole reason for existing, Blogger is roughly as good at running blogs as a live tuna fish is at doing your taxes. Instead of spending my time writing new posts, I was devoting most of my time to fixing broken images, deleting garbled spam comments and offering a variety of sacrifices to the Old Gods and the New if they would just make my blog theme work. So instead of sticking it out and fixing my old blog, I’ve decided to just jump ship and start all over again.
I’m sorry, Tax Tuna. Please don’t mess up my taxes.
So welcome to my new blog! It’s named after a weak Shakespeare reference this time, because I spent many of my formative years performing in “edgy” no-budget Shakespeare plays where everybody wore Converse shoes, and also because I’m tired of explaining to people that my surname is pronounced “Ko-Mo”, and not like the last gasps of a dying cow collapsing onto a pile of bagpipes.
Pictured: how my Acadian surname was pronounced throughout my K-12 education in a heavily Ukrainian area.
As you may have already noticed, I’ve also decided to give up on hunting through free stock image websites for weirdly specific pictures; instead, I’ll be drawing the pictures myself, because it turns out that Amazon will let anybody purchase a Wacom tablet, even if they have the artistic ability of a 12-year-old boy making splatter pictures by shooting milk out of his nostrils. I have no idea if anyone is going to spend time reading this hot mess, but I feel confident that my mother will tell me she’s proud of me before nervously asking if I’m planning to abandon my PhD for career in terrible internet comedy.
If you made it this far, congratulations for getting through several stupid paragraphs and terrible, child-like drawings. Consider yourself officially contractually obligated to be a fan of this blog, subscribe for updates, and buckle up for whatever absolute nonsense I come up with next week.