GOPHER GOOF

While I remain free on my own recognizance, no court yet requiring me to post bond, this may be a propitious time to answer my future mail from fans of George & Georgie. Few doubt that there will be a groundswell of curiosity about the origins of my trendy, funky, ultra-gopherine pair, who make their appearance through the rusty keyhole of my daily strip, pursuing their passion for gourmet dining and lofty, pre-apocalyptic commentary. Though I hear the snicker of libertines from their building in the air and their mumble of lies from their Book of Mammon, I, the Colonel of Truth, possessor of a bright and active senility, will set the record crooked. Yea, the Venerable One breaks his silence. (Too many beans).

George and Georgie are southwestern pocket gophers, who spend their prenuptials, moving at the speed of truth, improving the soil under my ancient alligator juniper, just outside my home office window. They help themselves to the birdseed dropped from feeders by my backyard flocks. The Lovely One has photographed these friends of mine, and a few of these pictures are posted here for that literal handfull of crazy web surfers, who have begun to admire the pair.

At present, my daily comic strip is free to all carbon-based organisms, though non-tax-deductible donations are not discouraged or returned. Plans are well-underway for a fashionable line of mugs, T-shirts, sock-puppets and other soon-to-be-sought-after-on-Ebay, highly-collectible items. No one need tell me that my depiction of the humorous couple suffers from a sort of artlessness. That is simply because I can not draw, and even if I could, my chronic, restless leg disorder and frenzied brainstem would still affect the lines. I apologize to the present few and to the future masses. Allow me to be a reminder of what happens when we let just anybody pick up a pen and use our language.