Dearest Readers,

As most of you know, I've been stealing money from a local cancer charity for quite some time now. It's startling how a couple of dollars a day can really add up, and I soon found myself with enough money to do what I do best (relatively speaking): print up a comic book!

So with cash in hand and artistry in my heart I shit out CHIP ZDARSKY'S PRISON FUNNIES ISSUE TWO: DESTINATION: DESTINY (2/3): DESTINY'S CHILD in a couple of weeks (check popimage for the preview!). A second issue of a comic series is no small feat, so I wanted to celebrate this achievement in style, with a cross-Ontario tour! So was born my Triple Jewels of Ontario's Crown tour! Three magnificent Canadian cities in four whirlwind days! Could it be done? Probably!

First up: TORONTO! What a wonderful evening.

Next up: BARRIE! Whoever said "you can never go home again" must have been some sort of retard, cause my hometown of Barrie is only a 45-minute drive from Toronto! And furthermore, it was exactly like I left it: barren, crime-ridden, and delightfully underage!

I sauntered into a local pub with my dirty wares and set up in a corner where the owner couldn't see me. A local band was playing and I seized a moment between sets to grab the mic and do an impromptu reading from one of my comical books.

I "worked the room" for roughly five minutes as I silently read the comic to myself, every once in a while letting out a slight chuckle, or an exclamation like "Heh. That's pretty funny" or "That arm doesn't look quite right." The audience was filled with anticipation of the next band.

A wave of cheers flooded the bar when the lead singer kicked me off the stage. I was shocked at his audacity. Did he not see the hand-made macaroni and poster-paint sign I made stating "An Evening With Chip Zdarsky"? It was quite obvious that the audience was cheering my attempt to stand up to the band, as I humiliated them with a torrent of tears and my quivering voice. If they thought they'd heard the last of me, they were wrong. Dead wrong.

Anyone that knows me knows that I believe in things with a passion that borders on the obscene. The above photo from the Quebec City Summit of the Americas is proof of this as I spent the entire weekend protesting something or other (probably my inability to score some primo poontang. Down with frigid ladeez! Up with doing me!).

So the band was ill-prepared for my extreme form of protest: Embarrasingly shitty dancing!

Within minutes of me breaking out my patented craptacular dance moves, the band's perfect synthesis of hard rock and subtle vocal harmonies trailed off and they had no choice but to pack up and leave the town where they'd been born. Point: Chip!

For the rest of the musicless night I kept right on dancing, this time in celebration, as my homecoming was unarguably an astounding success! I gently laid the City of Barrie down on a bed of my comics and fingered its downtown core until the sun came up. Do I speak metaphorically? Maybe, maybe not.

Next up: SAULT STE. MARIE!

A harrowing ten-hour drive with my good friends Winston O' Leary and Mr. Shoontzy led us to the doorstep of our not-as-good friend Ttiimm Cchheevveellddaaee. Ttiimm is a magical ogre who, when we first met him, lived in a derelict water tower, terrorizing little children with tales of impending unemployment and archaic by-laws. A minor struggle with the city later, he found himself living in a friend's unfinished basement. Upon our arrival in the Sault, Ttiimm showed us all that he still had it and enchanted us with many tales of wonderment and injustice towards ogres!

If ever you meet the mythical Ttiimm, you must always remember to never lean in to hear more of his tale, for bite your ear off he will, as he has tried on many occassion with yours truly.

A trip to any Northern Ontario city wouldn't be complete without a visit to a shitty local hockey game. I was very angry with Ttiimm for taking us as he's well aware of my distrust of all-white sports. He said I'd enjoy myself because he had a secret for me. He then leaned in and tried to tear my ear off.

It turned out that the surprise was a stadium announcement of my presence in the Sault and details on my Saturday signings! I was tickled pink at the audience's applause, which was made all the louder by the announcer's statement that I'd created The Bat-Man and Snoopy! I was sure to get quite the crowd at my signings now!

Saturday morning. Desolate Sault Ste. Marie. What is there to do in a city that time and minorities forgot? What possible reason is there to leave your home and break out of your mundane existence?

An awesome comic book signing at the local used vinyl/nostalgia shoppe, "The Rad Zone", that's what!

So where the fuck was everyone?

Three hours later I was a shell of a man. Even though I spend pretty much every day by myself re-enacting old General Hospital plotlines with the stumps of He-Man figures, I'd never until now experienced true loneliness. Surely my next signing at House of Comics couldn't be as much of a disaster, could it?

Yes, it could. Two hours later and I was actually down $45 due to my purchase of one of the model car kits that surrounded my signing table. The only customer that came through the door during my signing wanted to know how much my hat was. When I said the hat wasn't for sale she asked me how much for my pride. Her laughter as she waddled down the street still haunts my dreams. And, in hindsight, I should have sold the hat.

The next and final stop was sure to be a success, as it was in an environment tailor-suited for my irrepressible brand of cock-jokes and violent humour: a high-class, cougar-infested wine bar!

Nothing. Zero for three. End of tour. Possibly end of life?

With failure written across my face, Winston and Mr. Shoontzy packed up the car and we began to head home. About ten minutes into our drive, a light came on in my head and I chopped Shoontzy in the windpipe, sending our car careening into a snowbank, and, I believe, an elderly native woman. "What are we doing?!" I screamed, unnecessarily. "I'm not some typical comic book artist, some guy who's tall and handsome, with flowing blonde locks and a subtle, yet healthy tan! People don't come and see me except to demand monies owed, or to tell me to stay the hell away from their handicapped sister! I'm Chip Zdarsky and nobody loves me unless I MAKE THEM LOVE ME!"
At this point I was bawling like a goddamn baby, but I had an intense look on my face, as if I was a baby who's been given a high-ranking position in the Navy. "This isn't over! Tonight, we skip the light fantastic! Tonight, we make Sault Ste. Marie love me!"

Unscheduled final stop: The Docks, Sault Ste. Marie's premier dance club!

TIME FOR DADDY TO GO TO WORK.

Now that's what I'm talking about. This is a goddamned comic book signing. Let's get crazy, shall we?

By the time the club closed and the exceedingly rude bouncer kicked us out, I had made $7,350 in sales. Lesson learned!

Finding myself successful financially, I pushed my luck and tried to become successful matrimonially. Unfortunately, my fame didn't extend outside of the dance club. Let's call it a night while we're ahead, shall we?

The next day was the long trek home. Our good ogre friend recommended we make a pit stop at a little place called "Chicky's" for some world-class entertainment. Apparently "world-class entertainment" means 55-year olds giving each of us handjobs in the VIP lounge of a motel room, a.k.a. "the washroom." By noon we'd all been thoroughly jacked a (group) total of seventeen times! I felt quite raw, especially after the nice ladies took 7, 350 of my dollars in exchange for their booze and services. I didn't really mind as a lack of money keeps me humble, keeps me "street", you know what I mean?

The main problem with being "street" though is the hunger. We were on the road for four hours when our stomachs began convulsing, with no more chocolate bonbons in the car to satisfy them. Being jacked isn't easy work and we needed to replace the many nutrients that the nice grizzled lady took from us. Luckily, based on the success of the previous night, I had a plan.

Impromptu siging at a highway restaurant!

We proudly displayed some of history's finest literature and waited for the customers to come rolling in. After about twenty minutes it seemed strange to us that sales weren't as brisk as they should have been. We ate our buffet meal and quietly snuck out the side door.

It seems the management didn't see themselves as supporters of the arts and deemed the restaurant dumpster as the ideal spot for our promotional sign. No wonder we weren't selling anything! We quickly threw the board back into the (rented) Chipmobile and headed on the final stretch home, telling ourselves that only suckers pay for buffet lunches.

Once we dropped the rental car off (those goddamn scratches were there already, you goddamn shithead) I waltzed back to my basement apartment with the remaining comic books and my promotional sandwich board. Being gone for a few days is unsettling as you notice little things that have changed while you were away. A streetlight was repaired, but another one was broken. The neighbours had installed blinds on their teenage daughter's bedroom window. The locks on my apartment had been changed and padlocked over. For the fifth time in as many months I found myself homeless. But at least this time I was prepared.

So here I am now, sitting in an InterNet Café, giving you the Chip Zdarsky news you so desperately need. The (possibly) homo-sexual owner has been eyeing me strangely for the past half hour, probably due to my sandwich board which is currently alerting potential customers that I'm in here.

The Triple Jewels of Ontario's Crown tour is over now and I'm hard at work on CHIP ZDARSKY'S PRISON FUNNIES ISSUE THREE: DESTINATION: DESTINY (3/3): GRAVE DESTINY when I'm not sleeping in dumpsters. I hope you and your loved ones are well and I plan to stop in real soon to use your shower and finish that meal for you. God bless and take care.

Love,
Chip.