CLICK HERE: BE A GIANT. ANY HELP IS BIG HELP.

I need to drum up some quick cash to cover my medical stay. Most of these are ballpoint pieces I've been working on for awhile and coloring in Photoshop. I know we're all suffering but if you can wear the cape, you'll be my hero.

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Your brain throws a hard fault, the wetware crashing into a full-system reboot, and while you’re still spasming on the breakroom linoleum, the great American medical grift boots up its own flawless, predatory algorithm to start printing invoices. You aren't even conscious yet, but the meter is violently ticking, bleeding you dry for the joyride in the wailing meat-wagon, the emergency room bed, and a barrage of diagnostic scans you didn't ask for, all before you can wake up and tell them to just call your actual doctor. You wake up trapped in the post-ictal static, a prisoner in your own skull where the words are perfectly formed but the fleshy apparatus of your mouth has been remotely disconnected, leaving you entirely mute while the hospital's billing department aggressively monetizes every single second of your agonizing recovery. By the time the neurological reboot finishes and you can finally slur out that you’re fine, that it was just a routine electrical storm, the permanent damage is done: your boss is livid about the lost productivity from clearly you being a drama queen, your coworkers are staring at you like you’re a malfunctioning cyborg, and you’re suddenly staring down a fresh crater of debt deeper than three months' salary. It is a perfectly tuned extortion engine, a system so relentlessly efficient that even phantom specialists you never met are waiting at the sliding glass exit with their hands out, demanding their pound of flesh just for the privilege of letting you stumble back out into the dystopian sunlight.