This joke started father-less, like the kid behind door number three, with just the business card/don’t call me line. But Will and I, resenting our loving and nurturing fathers as spoiled brats might, seized the opportunity to transform this into a callow study of parenting.
Are those three strikingly similar men, triplets even? Are they all dark fantasies of the same father from the youth’s perspective? Does the dad carry around a wardrobe to match his split personalities? Is my slave artist too lazy to draw multiple distinct men? Like any great author, I’ll leave these deeper interpretive questions to you, dear reader.
I almost forgot. My friend, Josh, who rejoices at the thought of a new depressing comic also shudders at the thought of being mentioned online. So this one’s for you. And against you.