0135b — Winner Winner Hate the Sinner (Patreon)

It is ninety-five degrees in my office as I write this. I had left the window open, and I write upstairs. My breathing is shallow and labored, my forehead beaded with sweat which threatens to run and burn my eyes. Please forgive me for the brief but picturesque complimentary paragraph this week. If you like, use it to imagine how the cartoonists of the 19th century toiled, down beneath the earth's crust, lips stained from priming freezing quill pens, pockets full of lunch onions.