Chester Watson continues his quiet rampage, grabbing for vodka and weed and a pair of sunglasses. The Nu Age monotone messiah maligns post-racist myopia, teenaged angst, and suicidal thoughts. Just a minute and a half sketch, but enough to add to the growing arsenal. The writing is taut, the mood is tense, and it passes so fast you’re forced to rewind. There’s also a sepia Samurai on the cover. Are you not entertained?
