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Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Proofs.

Zins, Bist, Howe, IE, from the throbbing heart of the castle of the underworld

here, where the imaginary impulses steadily through the velvet night, the comic book

enclave, where all the groovy people wearing black t-shirts with a logo on the meat, the

cast of ghost world is here, as is everyone who ever adored fictionalizations in a giant picture-bound

form. We are at Meltdown Comics, ladies and gentlemen, at the Nerdist Theater.

This is Chris Hardwick's house. It's the little den that he built so that he could have fun outside.

So it's so awesome to be here. This is the smartest man in the world, Proofcast.

Once again, we commence and take to the ether in a multi-inked form worked on by many people in many countries,

just like a comic book, except not really. Mostly just me. Let's call this one Proofs, the Awakening.

A light pulse steadily in the dark has Greg awoke. He could not find his bong for his glasses had fallen off in the

night before. The phone rang. It was the Prime Minister of China again.

The thing about this asshole is, after he calls you once, an hour later he wants to talk again.

Yuck, yuck, yuck. Greg equipped through clenched teeth.

Then at the door. Greg, wake up. They're having a sale on socks at Duchamp.

As you might have gathered, comic books aren't exactly my metier. I'm more on the book end of comic books,

but I adore them. I think that Judge Dread was one I enjoyed. I realized for comic book people who were listening

out there, they're like, hey, grandpa, what was it like when Oswald the mouse was a funny cartoon?

There's one thing I won't have at the studio. It's Jews.

Hello, Mr. Sikowski. Hello, Mickey. It's been a while. I saw the watchman. Is that count?

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