I bet many of you wish your real lives were like this. You wish for a living nightmare.

I lie back on the table, naked, draped in paper, awaiting my exam. I assume the position, heels in stirrups, exposing my privates to an air conditioned gust. Time crawls by and I’m thinking, “Why didn’t they let me read magazines in the lobby where the light’s so much more flattering?” I hate being alone in this room so prone to ruminating.

My ten year try at true love had turned loveless two years before. Then, I’d rushed into a frantic romance, which ended soon as the guy recognized it as a rebound. This was followed by the realization that my last period had put the period on my menses, and probably put the period on men. Menopause? More like Men-o-stop. My allotment of orgasms had apparently expired with my eggs.

I’ve decided to go in an all new direction with Ben & Winslow, and to help me achieve the level of greatness I envision for this comic, I’ve enlisted the help of my 6-year-old daughter to write and draw whatever it is she thinks is funny.

Last year’s Paris Conference on Climate change has focused the world’s attention on global warming. Especially Canadians, who are wondering when exactly it will get here, already.

Trusted celebrities have issued warnings that we must act now for the sake of our children’s future environment. However, I don’t think the children really care that much, given the condition of their rooms.

Some people wake up with headaches, or colds, or upset stomachs. Winslow wakes up with coconut palms and castaways and a mouthful of tiny fish.