Legend has it that an old wives' tale recorded somewhere in a forgotten language (or something) spins a yarn about how really good comic artists aren't good comic writers and vice versa.  This work reinforces the hearsay.  These stories drag, but the artwork is distinctive.  I still hope future volumes will be better. 

I put a special request in at the library in order to have the chance to read this. For a while, I've been interested in the (surprisingly inverse) correlation between income and obesity in the US. You'd think my interest would be enough to motivate me to skip over the first-person mombie narrative. You'd think wrongly.

I'm disgusted whenever these autobiographical clippings are presented under the guise of works falling into any other nonfiction classification. Didn't waste my money (thankfully). Not wasting my time. Abandoned.