Chris Onstad, come back

Some of your commentary on the strips in “Worst Song, Played on Ugliest Guitar” feel like the laments of a beauty queen who doesn’t think she’s skinny enough.  The truth is, though, it all inspired us, even that weird excursion you took into North Korean magical realism at the end of Achewood’s run.  But now we hear you’re making artisanal sodas in Portland.  Brother, please, come back to us.


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