One day an image came to mind of a bunch of pigs in the window, so I sat down and drew it right then. Ya know, like it was important...
I think when a bunch of pigs come to your window like this you've probably done something horribly wrong. Just so you know.
My friend Susan was the last of eight babies. She says by the time her mom got to the eighth baby she was tired of dragging around leaky-nosed babies and just stuck Susan in a crib for years. Susan remained there on her back until her head became quite flat.
Poor flat-headed Susan, ironically named after a character in a prison movie.
Of course eventually she was able to get to her feet and envy the freedom enjoyed by her brothers and sisters. Spunky as she was, she climbed out of the crib, mastered walking, packed a bag and headed out into the world to fight crime.
She's currently retired in Maine where to this day she still hides her flat head with great blonde hair.
I drew this after Susan told me the story. It's all absolutely true, by the way.
Update: Susan tells me she was the eighth of TWELVE babies, so I've told the story wrong.
Twelve babies. Everyone should take a moment to ponder the power of a uterus...