No Cure for Cancer
A few years ago, two friends created a comic about their lives, as well as the lives of their two lazier, less artistically inclined chums. Thus, Dirty Tissues was born. We created a website, built up a head of steam, got a lot of readers and, right when we were taking off, imploded. (pEzer drew the line at illustrating a couple performing fellatio in front of their child and hundreds of other soon-to-be Holocaust victims as they rode the train to Dachau. It's a story as old as time itself, really.)

A few years have passed. Tempers have cooled. Life has beaten us down and branded our asses. One of us even forgot to pull out and now has a magic dollar-bill-to-feces-converter that human beings tend to call children. And a funny thing happened: we got the yen to dirty the tissues anew.
So here we are: older, balder and on a mission from God to get the band back together. I hope you'll forgive the our two-plus year absence. As your father said when he left his hot young secretary to move back in with you and your mom after he figured he couldn't afford to pay both alimony and child support: “It probably won't happen again.”

pEzer using his bald head to impersonate a penis.