How far back does the Ghost of Christmas Past typically take people? I want a soul-searching holiday adventure, but not badly enough to lose cell service.

December 23rd: Christmas Eve Eve

December 26th: Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve

This year has made me long for the days where I could say, “I hate my fucking life” and kind of not mean it.

New comic! Wherein Cord kicks the holiday festivities into high gear.

I’ve reached the “won’t even consider purchasing a game built around online multiplayer” level of introversion.

Me: It is going to take every ounce of strength I possess to make it through this holiday season.

Also me: *does not possess a single ounce of strength*

It's the 27th anniversary of Beavis and Butt-Head Do America, which also happens to be the 27th anniversary of me lying to my mom about seeing Mars Attacks.

The “scary ghost stories” line from It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year confirms that every supernatural horror film is, in fact, a Christmas movie.

New comic! Wherein holiday depression comes for Jenkins.

New comic! Wherein holiday depression comes for Jenkins.

Creative output? I mean, I’ve got the “output” part down.

Reality increasingly does not agree with me.

New comic! Wherein Cord contends with holiday stress.

Thanks to Panera, the "When life gives you lemons" proverb now includes, like, a million disclaimers.

As an obsessive hand-washer who lives in an area with dry, cold winter air, my pain tolerance is through the fucking roof.

I don't wanna say I hold myself in low esteem, but I conclude every email, text message, phone conversation, and human interaction with "Sorry for the inconvenience."

The instant I'm back in the '90s, I'm ditching the Ghost of Christmas Past, taking my smartphone to a big tech company, and cashing the fuck in.

As this is the month of generosity, I’m assuming rent payment is optional.

Just muttered, “My brain is too much for me,” and I think I have the perfect title for my autobiography.

I don't have any popular opinions, you say? Then how do you explain me hating myself?