I think I’m going to get to a point where my comics become so absurd that nothing makes sense anymore. Just going to let the whole thing devolve into weirdness.

“Come to my chambers,” said Xara, the 2,000-year-old temptress empress to intrepid explorer Maximilian Wolfsburg over the sounds of advancing troops. “I wish to know more of what you call pasta.”

These are the rules, Little Winslow. This is the way things are.

From the moment you enter the austere and tragically hip Konqrete Fuud Centre, you will be swept away by its passionate serenity. Cloisterlike in its stillness, the restaurant’s concrete walls, floor, ceiling, and accoutrements express a deep civility and liberating blankness. There are only eight tables in the 1,200 square foot room, each a lacquered slab of concrete sparsely surrounded by utterly tasteful concrete stumps. The ambience promotes the intense focus of savasana without the relaxation. One does not lounge at the KFC as much as one perches, aware and yet ineffably calm.

Ben and Winslow have returned, at least for now. And Winslow’s been growing a whole lot of bamboo!