Chapter 17, Page 22a: Emotional Smorgasbord

Posted on July 21, 2026 by Brad Guigar

HoloClone Miss Match races to Dr. Muskiday’s rescue with the one weapon the macronanoes never saw coming: an outrageously dramatic declaration of love. The macronanoes quickly discover a much more tempting emotional smorgasbord.

New eComic: The Best of Cassie Cruz

A new Tales from the Evil Inc After Dark Archive eComic is now available: The Best of Cassie Cruz.

This 27-page collection gathers some of the best appearances of Cassie Cruz, one of my favorite characters to write and draw. Patreon backers have already received a free copy as part of their membership.

If you’d like a copy, you can get yours here: https://go.evil-inc.net/Best-of-Cassie

Cassie brings exactly the kind of energy Evil Inc After Dark was built for: confident, chaotic, dangerous, and more than a little likely to make a bad decision feel like a very good idea.

Transcript

Panel 1:

Dr. Muskiday is completely under the control of the macronanoes.

(from off panel) HoloClone Miss Match: My sweet baboo! What have they DONE to you!

Panel 2:

Holoclone Miss Match runs onto the scene.

HoloClone Miss Match: I never had the chance to tell you my true feelings — to express what has been buried deep inside me!

Panel 3:

HoloClone Miss Match: (with a slight eyeroll) You know… without the massage oils and putting the lab in ‘privacy mode.’

Panel 4:

HoloClone Miss Match:I love you, Dr. Phineas Muskiday! I always have!

Panel 5:

The macronanoes start to break up from around Dr. Musikday’s head.

Macronano 1: Hey! What’s THIS?!?

Macronano 2: We’re wasting time with these sad, little scraps…

Panel 6:

The macronanoes surround HoloClone Miss Match

Macronano 2:  …when there’s a smorgasbord standing right here!

Alt text

Six-panel Evil Inc comic. Panel 1: Exterior of the Evil Inc Fairmount offices. Inside, Dr. Muskiday is completely covered and controlled by a cloud of macronanoes. From off-panel, HoloClone Miss Match cries, “My sweet baboo! What have they DONE to you?!” Panel 2: HoloClone Miss Match runs into the lab with her hands dramatically pressed to her face. She says, “I never had a chance to tell you my true feelings — to express what has been buried deep inside me!” Panel 3: Close-up of HoloClone Miss Match giving a slight eye roll and shrugging as she adds, “You know… without the massage oils and putting the lab in ‘privacy mode.’” Panel 4: She drops to one knee and reaches toward the cloud-covered doctor, declaring, “I love you, Doctor Phineas Muskiday! I always have!” Panel 5: The macronanoes begin breaking apart and drifting away from Dr. Muskiday’s head. One exclaims, “Hey! What’s THIS?!” Another says, “We’re wasting time with these sad, little scraps…” HoloClone Miss Match watches nervously from the floor. Panel 6: The grinning macronanoes surround HoloClone Miss Match as one finishes, “…when there’s a smorgasbord standing right here!” She ducks and shields her head while the creatures close in.

On sixteen years of Wedded Bliss

Posted on October 6, 2014 by Brad Guigar
Reposted from my Facebook page over the weekend:

On sixteen years of Wedded Bliss…

So, last night, my wonderful in-laws took the boys on a sleepover, and Caroline and I celebrated our anniversary with a date night. She found an incredible Mexican restaurant in South Philly, Plaza Garibaldi, and we toasted 16 fantastic years over margaritas. When I think about what I’m most thankful for, I’d have to say it’s Doctor Who on the BBC. In 1998, I was a guy with an upwardly mobile newspaper job. I left for work wearing a tie and suspenders every day. And, sure, I worked a night shift then, but I was going to be the Assistant Graphic Editor. And, then, the Graphics Editor. And after that… who knows? But it looked pretty damn sweet. Fast forward to Now. I go to work in jeans and a T-shirt. I call myself a cartoonist, for chrissakes. I self-publish books, sweat over stuff like shipping and Internet stats. I still work the night shift. And the day shift. And any other shift I can fit in there. When I’ve written something I think is funny, I’m insufferable. And when that doesn’t happen, I’m worse. And since the kids came along, we live in a frat house. My wife lives in fervent hope of getting through one meal — just one — without poop jokes. Or farts. Or fart jokes. Or a quote from Teen Titans Go. Or a round of 20 Questions — Which Marvel Villain Am I. Life is a whirlwind of school, homework, swimming lessons, choir, judo, did-we-pay-that-bill, did you remember to schedule this, what do you want from the grocery store, and when are we gonna find time for that. It’s questions like “do you think that’s pink eye?” and “does this look like mouse poop?” And that’s why I’m thankful for Doctor Who on the BBC. Because, if he were real… and if he showed up before she walked down the aisle 16 years ago… there’s nobody in their right mind who could fault her from stepping into the Tardis and getting the hell out. She’d still have time to build a life that would look more like the one she had in mind. But the good Doctor is on a sound stage in Wales. And we’re here in Philadelphia. Together. Happy. Healthy. Parents of a couple of beautiful kids. And as nuts about each other as we were 16 years ago. Maybe more.