Yeah, I read Judy Blume. My mother didn't like that, but I read it anyhow.

I grew to resent the way my father treated his furniture like children, and his children like furniture.

It's imprecise and insufficient, defining the homosexual as a person whose gender expression is at odds with his or her sex.

I suppose that a lifetime spent hiding one's erotic truth could have a cumulative renunciatory effect. Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

Well, I'm always working on my comic strip and trying to, you know, keep cranking that out.

What would happen if we spoke the truth?

Autobiographical comics, I love them. I love them.