Amidst the stench of marijuana, ink, and beer, Jay exhales smoke as he arranges the pages of the new volume he's created with "The Northwest Collective." Sam Kieth? Neil Gaiman? Bah! They're all a bunch of pretentious people who have the advantage of their ideals being nothing new and are applauded for shit like their fucked-up status as white men, millionaires, and mediocre art. The world needed something like their latest group project! "Anarchy and Ink," not shit made to sell a false idea of justice, cheap punk. They needed the Northwest Independent Comix Collective! And it was a sure thing for Jay.