I had a very happy realization this week. This is my life: I work for a magazine about toys where I write fart jokes all day. I also write comic books. I live in my childhood home with my beautiful wife who works in a candy store and can get me all the free chocolate I want.

I can't conclusively prove that what I consider to be my life is not merely the fantasy of myself at age 6. I guess that's one of those philosophical questions. Can anyone help me out?

Oh, also, a new sushi restaurant just opened in my town, and it's really good. I'm in trouble.