Once a week, I am a very desperate man.

Becoming the new feminine ideal requires just the right combination of insecurity, exercise, bulimia and surgery.

I just happen to have one of those skill sets that allows me to work in my underwear.

I try not to second-guess editors; they're the clients, and I have no expectation that my strip is going to make it into every paper every day.

At some point free expression absolutism becomes childish and unserious.

That's what fiction writers do: create characters and do terrible things to them for the entertainment of others. If they feel guilty enough, they write happy endings.

I'm still passionately interested in what my fellow humans are up to. For me, a day spent monitoring the passing parade is a day well-spent.