The cartoonist’s first month on the strip
was finally done.
They even felt pretty good
about how it’d all gone down.
But then a door (more of a
portal, really) opened up
inside of their apartment,
splattering cosmic rays all across
their new carpet.
The door brought with it a daily-comic-strip
-policeman from the Zth dimension,
a fellow who was
green skinned and bug eyed
with a gravelly voice and a ray-gun at his side.
“They weren’t all winners,”
was his only declaration
before he raised up his mighty weapon
and ZARPED! the cartoonist dead.