I used to name my alternate egos as a child. Dexter Columbine was the WASPy version of me and Da7e was the more anarchistic one (this is Dave, not Ryan typing, bee tee dubs).

I think naming these things makes sense. In a Ziggy Stardust, Marilyn Manson sort of way.

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Hey hey, something something.

Dos Factotum is winding down the Ninth and second consecutive near-forgotten season. Currently, Ryan and I are leaving each other alone, which suggests a brilliant Season 10 to come.

Are they ever going to kill that chicken?

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Well, fuck. What excuses do you want from me? Us? No?
Just me then.
Well, I suck.
How about that?

See you tomorrow with more evidence that I really suck, because all I needed to do was sign on to post already-finished strips…

-Dave-

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That live poultry store referenced above. It exists.

Dave here, and it turns out there are a lot of live poultry stores in Brooklyn. At least in the ghetto neighborhoods I live in, not the fancy Bored To Death neighborhoods or the Russian neighborhoods in Brooklyn’s Finest.

Here’s the closest live poultry store to me - it’s next to my laundromat:

This is the penultimate Dos Factotum season, and there are only 23 comics left in the whole shebang!

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How was my day? I’m sick of taxes, that’s how my day is.

24, 24, Twenty-Four more Dos Factotum comics to go before we kill condom and cigarette in a hail of fire!

Ok. We might not kill them.

This is the penultimate Dos Factotum season. See you Wednesday.

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Chowder week continues, huzzah!

Or not huzzah. Honestly, yesterday was pretty shitty. Long day at work, short tempers, not a lot of sleeps. Maybe today will be better. Maybe today is the day I stop pluralizing sleeps.

It’s the penultimate season of Dos Facotum and the next one resumes our regularly scheduled programming on Saturday!

25 to go until the end of Season 10, or something like that.

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Unexpectedly fell into a day of work that won’t end. Guh.

But here’s your comic.

See you tomorrow for more adventures in Chowder!

It’s the penultimate season of Dos Factotum!

26 to go till that sweet, sweet conclusion.

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It’s CHOWDER WEEK!

Dave here. And with Ryan’s general malaise surrounding everything Dos Factotum (have you checked out This Is Grim yet?), that means I can’t blame him for forgetting to post the comic last Wednesday. Or last Saturday.

I was puking a lot last Saturday because of a nettie pot, so I’m hesitant to blame myself.

Then, Sunday, I was feeling okay and managed to make it to brunch with Ryan Grim, amongst others. I told him I had forgotten to post the comics and he told me I had forgotten the two strips he had written at his house (oh the difficulties of not sharing a living space with your writer!).

I said I’d probably just bump the comics back a week so he could have more time to procrastinate in writing the last 3 of this season (let’s not think about what it will take to get him to write the 10th season and finish this bitch off).

Then, today, I thought: Wait! Eff-no!

I’ve been waiting long enough to get to the end of Dos Factotum, why should I make everyone else wait as well.

So this week will be Chowder Week. There’s a subplot about Chowder before we get to the titular Chicken of this season, and it’s going to fit in this week, completely.

Today - Episode 3
Tomorrow - Episode 4
Then, back to basics with Wednesday - Ep 5 and Saturday Ep 6.

It’s the penultimate season of Dos Factotum!

Click the “Subscribe” link to hook up e-mail alerts, RSS feeds and Twitter following. The hiatus is over.

27 to go.

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Dave here.

This probably give you a good idea of how long I’ve been poking at Ryan Grim, telling him to write more cigarette/condom antics. After a short e-mail debate, it was decided that this was still funny, because it still happened, just - like - months ago. Before The Health Care Reform debate or anything like that.

But it’s the core truth that I don’t need women judging me and Thrash likes to watch history happen…

…wait. No, that goes the other way around.

Because if I remember the day of Balloon Boy (Falcon!) correctly, and I do, I was the one watching all three networks while monitoring Twitter, thinking I might see the body of a young boy tumble out of an amateur aircraft. When that didn’t happen, I decided to smoke some pot and take a nap.

So, yeah. I’m not sure where that story was going.

It’s the penultimate season of Dos Factotum!

Click the “Subscribe” link to hook up e-mail alerts, RSS feeds and Twitter following. The hiatus is over.

28 to go.

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Dave here.

Recently, I’ve been drinking less hard liquor. It’s not because I like getting drunk any less or because I can’t take the burn of the cheap-yet-boozy drinks I can afford. I simply got tired of being hungover a lot.

Not only do I take hangovers worse than most, but I seemed to miss that transitionary period between being young enough to feel no pain and being old enough that I wake up in pain. Hangovers weren’t helping the generic pain my body heaps upon me in the form of knotted muscles and sore joints. The family masseuse (based out of CO) says it’s because I commute with my laptop on my back while living in a “dangerous” neighborhood that keeps me “alert” and “storing my stress.”

Things were a lot easier when I could puke and rally. I used to do it a lot, which is how i earned one of my many nicknames: “Pukes.” From bulimia-mocking gags so I could empty my stomach and fill it with more booze to simply puking after losing a drinking game, I did it all.

And somehow still managed to hook up with a few ladies, which is something you don’t think a dude called “Pukes” would really do.

Anyway. Ryan isn’t drying out as severely as I am, but he’s also reduced his cheap-and-hard boozahol intake. Because to quote Danny Glover, I’m getting to old for this shit.

Don’t feel bad for me though, I have other vices I indulge in. Some legal, some not; all fun. So don’t think I’m going soft on you.

Welcome to the penultimate season of Dos Factotum!

Click the “Subscribe” link to hook up e-mail alerts, RSS feeds and Twitter following. The hiatus is over.

29 to go.

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