PolkOut.com is...MATHEMATICAL!

Rhombus.

Among the many inaccuracies in this comic--most which I'll notice later as I slap myself--there are two major ones: the first, Mark wears a hat.  All the f!cking time.  But, as I learned from my work-related comics, drawing hats is a bitch.  I hate it, so I didn't do it.  Second of all, the way this comic is drawn, it appears as we're stuck in traffic, speaking out of our respective windows people in adjacent cars.  I noticed that while coloring the comic but couldn't do anything about it because the "S" on his shirt would not lend itself to flipping.  So f!ck...I don't really care all that much.

Amazingly enough, I think this might be the most ridiculous comic since the one about gay germs.  I don't know how crazy sh!t like ass-peeners pop into my head, but I'm grateful that they do.

In other news, my grandma is an awful cook and managed to f!ck up one of the simplest of recipes:

She grew a cucumber donut.  What the hell?

As for deli work, customers are still f!cking idiots.  I don't understand what compels upper-middle-class-dumb-as-horse-sh!t-housewives to order vast quantities of cold cuts and then...walk away.  And never return.  Or why old people go batsh!t if their liverwurst isn't cut in a speedy enough manner, it's like we're withholding their medication.  Please, old people: BATHE, TAKE YOUR CRAZY PILLS, DON'T ADDRESS ME LIKE I'M A DOG. 

Oh, and ladies, mark your calendars: August 15th.  That's day I officially resign from my meat-cutting post to pursue the last two weeks of my summer in lazy bliss.  Shower me with your kisses before I return again into the arms of classy, callipygous New York sophisticettes.

A man can dream.

--End Transmission--             

P.S.  Shut the f!ck up, sophisticettes is spelled intentionally like that.