Posthuman Blues

This evening I swung by Macaroni Grill for dinner. The food wasn't bad. But the great part was the paper tablecloth and actual Crayola crayons (not those waxy, ineffective crayons like you get at California Pizza Kitchen).





I drew one of my signature aliens; it's amazing how something this simple and effortless fucks with people. Sticking it to the normals!





My waitress asked the requisite question: "Are you an artist?" Which, of course, depends on one's definition of art. I told her I liked to draw.

Here's a previous alien drawing, done in an actual crayon store: