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You know that blog post I made awhile ago about identification with one's characters and whatnot?

Well, t'other day, a Digger went up where the local healer asks her weight, and she replies "Two-twenty." I figured that was a pretty good weight for an anthropomorphic wombat--her height looks to be somewhere around four-to-four-and-a-half feet tall, she's got immense muscle mass compared to a human, seemed a fair size.

Speculation in the comments today was that the reason I picked this number is because *I* weigh 220, and Digger is my metaphor for myself.

One person, who ain't gettin' their comment approved, went so far as to link to a photo of me at my top weight (which was never anywhere near 220, but with the usual camera-adding-pounds problem looks plausible as such.) It's not a good photo. No good photos of me exist, for that matter.

In case anybody's wondering, I'm 5'7", I weigh a little under 170 (possibly less, I keep losing weight) and Digger is not my metaphor for myself.

Sheesh. I bet this doesn't happen to male cartoonists.

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I am in agreement. I would have killed my SO for it, but that kind of thing is exactly the kind of evil I'd appreciate in a man. ^_^

It's also, for those as don't know him, NOTNOTNOT the kind of thing fenmere (*waves*) would do. Just the kind of funny he brings.

It's also probably one of the harshest comics I've done. My humor has taken a turn for the nasty in the past couple of years, and it actually kind of bothers me. On the other hand, there is a method to it. I think.

Ah, I don't think it's taken a turn for the nasty, exactly. Or perhaps it has, but that only means that we went from Fenmere's-cuddly-stuffins to something biting enough normal, bitter people can relate a little. (I've been enjoying the editorial one-offs especially).

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