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Since this is my Personal Website, it’s my duty to bore everyone by clogging your bandwidth with self-promotional posts like this one. Dear anyone scrolling slow enough to care: i am presently en route to the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, where i will be trapped all weekend, peddling my little song of self-hate, my juvenile jeremiad, my gratuitous graphic navel-gaze, my toilet in a teacup, my cartoon curse on civilization, the book that makes a mountain out of a dunghill amidst a vast sea of life’s greater unspoken problems — Sick — at the Secret Acres table inside Toronto’s Reference Library. It will be an extremely raw and yet tedious experience for all of us. Please say hi and buy the book and then read it and think, probably, “wow Gabby sure does make a lot of fuss over nothing.”

This book isn’t exactly saturated in mass-market appeal; i’ll consider it a success if it breaks even at tepid disinterest. It is, after all, just one tiny point of light struggling against the blackness of the abyss in our vast Constellation of Comic Art, presumptuous in its hope to make the tiniest impression on a few straining retinas, before i and my drawing hand finally, imminently burn out into the blackness forever — inspiring little more from the world than a sigh of relief, as it returns its gaze to artistic supernovae like Chester Brown, shining on in fortune’s spotlight with their bold, bestselling, bloviating cartoon dad-rants about renting anonymous women’s bodies for sex is Christ’s literal plan for my penis…

Well, see you there! And if you know any good mushroom spots near the library, do not hesitate to let me know…