His younger sister.

Turn the volume down and the flavor up.

I do like my toys.

I still do this myself.

I have matching pants.

True story, I used to wear Hawaiian shirts almost exclusively.

It was during the "Foundations" year of my art school days. The first year, in which each student was on a level playing field, and we all had to take the same classes. These classes were meant to introduce us to the various disciplines in which our art career could take; sculpture, photography, illustration, fine art, etc. It was meant to be a tool to help us choose a major and ultimately seal our fates.

Each of my fellow freshmen came to the art institute as the top artist in their graduating classes in our high schools, or at least they were considered to be "The Artist" among their peers. They differentiated themselves further by dressing the part, in what seemed to be the unofficial "uniform" of the art student: black shirt, black pants, boots, black nail polish, multiple piercings, tattoos, hair coloring, pasty white skin, sullen expression. At their schools, they stuck out and were considered "different".

Problem is, when they arrived at art school, they all looked the same. It was the great equalizer. No one stuck out. Not one.

I didn't want to be the "Death, skulls, blood, anger" type of artists that they all wanted to be. I wanted to draw cartoons and concentrate on humorous illustration. I had no desire to fit in. I wanted to stand out. So among all the sullen, black-clad mopes, I decided to be the antithesis. What could be more opposite all black, but a Hawaiian shirt?

So I started to collect them and wore them every day to school. I had all different types and colors. And stand out I did. 

Needless to say, everyone hated me; and the feeling was mutual.

Who knows? They may work...

Like ships in the night.

Life is a gas.

I'm not above doing a boob joke...

Good to be back...sorta.

The pain of cleaning.

Yes it's a real thing, and yes it's as scary as it sounds.

Do you even lift (babies)?

On demand.

The joke was going to be about underwear.

R U sleeping LOL

Angel food?

Another parental dilemma

Ex-actly.

If that mockingbird don't sing.

It's a real product. I'm not kidding.

Leaky diaper.

Happy Birthday!

Today is a very special day for Father of the Brood. First, it's the 100th strip! Since September, I've been posting a new comic every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday (except for than one day when I fell down the stairs). I've gained a lot of readers, and I appreciate everyone's "Likes, Shares, and Comments". You folks are the best!

Second, the Brood is now complete! Today commemorates the birth of Oliver. In real life, he had a rocky start, but since this is a humorous comic, I won't be addressing it here (I'm saving all of that for the book).

So here's to the next 100 strips. Thanks for sticking with me so far. Tell all of your friends to follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and GoComics. Keep chiming in with your stories and anecdotes, I love reading them! Take care.

I was going to share.

Gotta go!

Bathroom baby.

The timer is going off. No, not that one, the OTHER one!

Won't be long now!

You should've seen my list of girl names...

Still no way I'm switching to decaf.

Stealth Jett.

Paleontology lesson.

Quite an appetite!

Maybe I'm just badly lit.

Two new profile pics coming right up...

Got mail?

Just in time for the three-legged race.

It's also a sad commentary on my lack of friends.

Power of the Pasta

And wear your hazmat suit.

When left alone to my own devices...

At the tail end of my first marriage, when everything was winding down and the end was imminent, the kids went with their mom on vacation, and for the first time, I was home alone for the longest time I had ever been alone. It dawned on me that was what life was going to be like when I became single and the kids aren't around. I can do anything I wanted. ANYTHING I wanted. So I turned on the T.V. and thought about what crazy, violent debauchery I could find to watch. After a few minutes of searching, I gave up and ended up getting out my DVDs and had a PIXAR marathon. In the end, I probably had more fun that way.

I'm so joyous I could cry.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have a gift card.

Driving me crazy.

She's tidied up, and I can't find anything!

I'm sure sitting down drawing all day and night isn't helping.

Getting older, and louder.

A tissue, a handkerchief, a paper towel, a napkin, a balled-up roll of toilet paper...

Five second rule.