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Tag: Illustrated Comic Series

  • Susan & Oishi: A Tale of The Signal Co. Ep. 1 – Character Introduction

    Narrator: Oishi
    (Reluctant. Tired. Overqualified for this nonsense.)

    Oishi (narrating):
    I don’t want to do this, but apparently, I’m the designated narrator of this madness—so here we are.

    I’m surrounded. Literally.
    To my left: Sahsmi, an orange Chihuahua with eyes big enough to reflect existential dread.
    On the rug: Bibimbap, our baby green elephant with the emotional intelligence of a therapist.
    Next to him, reclining like a celebrity scandal: Tteokbokki, the baby monkey—mid-burger, always.
    Staring from the aquarium with judgey bubbles: Maeutang, the fish.
    And stretching out in full drama-pony glory: Bulgogi, the baby blue horse who thinks he’s majestic. He is. He’s also clumsy but he’s not on the picture yet.

    Anyway.
    The past few days, Sus—my melodramatic, overcaffeinated hooman—has been coming home from work absolutely buzzing with chaos.
    She bursts through the door, scoops me up like I’m a purse dog, pins me under her arm, and says:

    “Oishi, my badoodle—I have a juicy scoop for you!”

    Then she monologues. For hours. Through dinner. Through dessert. Through my will to live.

    But I love Sus. So even if her voice pierces my eardrums like a kazoo powered by drama, I listen. Because love is patient. And she has the snacks.

    That said—my emotional support battery is draining faster than her phone at 3%.
    So each morning, when she leaves for work, I call my friends here and unload the tales before I emotionally combust.
    This, dear listener, is our ritual. And yes—there’s always a lesson, brought to you by yours truly:
    Oishi, your neighborhood PhilosoFurr.

    There are 11 coworkers—and one very dramatic hooman.

    Meet the team behind the drama. And the abs behind the confusion.

    There’s ten of them. Yes, 12 if you will count my Sus.
    So don’t fall asleep on me—I know it’s a lot, but trust me, they’re all important.
    Every single one of these characters is either a blessing, a lesson… or a cautionary tale wearing business casual.

    So listen up.
    Grab a fry.
    Let’s begin.

    Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess

    Susan V. is what happens when espresso, glitter, and unchecked emotions form a union.
    She’s in Customer Service but believes she’s in a high-stakes drama.
    Her morning mood is sponsored by “don’t talk to me,” and by dinner she’s dramatically whispering secrets into my ear like I’m her furry therapist.

    She calls me her badoodle, scoops me up like I’m a plush toy, and unleashes daily monologues that rival Netflix dramas.
    She wears shirts that say “Exaggerated Princess” because truth in labeling is important.

    But hey—she’s loyal, loud, and loves hard.
    So even if my ears suffer emotional damage, I listen.
    Because I love her.

    Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst

    Yohanes isn’t technically paid to know everything—but he does.
    He doesn’t spread gossip to hurt. He spreads it because he’s got a talent for “informative observation with jazz hands.”

    His eyes sparkle with curiosity. His tone? Pure brunch gossip.
    He’s like the Wi-Fi of workplace drama—always on, mostly harmless.

    He wears mint green, pumpkin orange, and positivity.
    Even when he delivers eyebrow-raising intel, it’s with a smile that says,

    “I come in peace… but with details.”

    We love him. Even when we pretend we don’t.

    Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk

    Horatio T. is the kind of guy who walked into HR one day and never left. Not physically. Not spiritually.

    He’s got reddish-brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a beige checkered suit so aggressively neutral it could erase your personality by eye contact alone.
    His tie? Pumpkin orange. Not because he’s fun. Because it’s mandatory brand compliance.

    He doesn’t talk—he issues memos.
    He doesn’t walk—he stomps silently, like a disappointed librarian.

    But here’s the twist:
    Deep, deep down in that spreadsheet-shaped soul… he has a heart.
    He’s helped employees file insurance claims like they were personal quests.
    He’s just trying to keep us from setting the place on fire—with rules.

    We call him the Memo Monk because if enlightenment had a PowerPoint, he would’ve written it.

    Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason

    Brenda is the reason this workplace hasn’t collapsed into a flaming pit of passive aggression and bad decisions.

    She’s 5’6″ of calm, moisturized authority.
    Her hair? Long, curly, hydrated. Her skin? Watered like a houseplant that knows its worth.
    She wears a calm green outfit paired with a delicate star pendant, like a walking parable with a good skincare routine.  
    And her white sneakers? Spotless. Like her reputation.

    Brenda is the only one who can:

    • Shush Yohanes mid-scoop.
    • Block Susan from eating a dozen donuts.
    • And disarm Horatio with a perfectly timed “Thank you for the memo, Horatio. We’ll take it into prayer.”

    She doesn’t say much—but when she does?
    It’s with biblical judgment and motherly precision.

    And rumor has it—she’s inviting Susan to church.

    Brenda doesn’t chase drama.
    Drama knocks and Brenda answers with a raised brow and a scripture.

    Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch

    He’s pale. He’s nervous. He clutches his calculator like it’s the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse.
    His glasses are thick enough to see into next fiscal year.
    He dresses like someone who gets mad when people use the color ink in the printer. (Because he does.)

    Pete’s superpower? Making everyone remember their taxes… in January.

    “Don’t forget to file your W-2.”

    He once tripped over a paperclip and filed an incident report… on himself.

    But here’s the thing: Pete means well. He’s just… Pete.
    He’s the human version of a paper jam. Awkward, unavoidable, and kind of tragic.
    But he keeps us legal. Barely.

    So we nod. We thank him.
    And we keep our receipts—just in case.

    Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis

    According to Susan, Macchismo is “so hot, volcanoes feel self-concious.
    Her pupils turn into tiny cartoon hearts every time she talks about him.
    It’s deeply concerning.

    Macchismo D. works in Sales, but let’s be honest—he sells himself just by walking into a room.
    He’s tall, muscular, and his raven-dark hair is so flawless.
    His smile sparkles. Literally. I suspect teeth glitter. Still investigating.

    He wears light blue polos like a superhero costume, and he says things like,

    “Let’s close this deal, team!”
    with the exact tone of someone who thinks that’s how you get promoted.

    People love him.
    People trust him.
    And honestly? That might be the real danger.

    He works under Jezzie Bell, who seems to have a lipstick-shaped leash on him.
    But hey, I’m just the dog. What do I know?

    For now, let’s just say this:
    Macchismo D. is dazzling.


    Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen

    If Yohanes is the office sparkle of harmless scoop, Dinah is the cold-brew version—strong, bitter, and served with no remorse.

    She walks in like she owns the building’s secrets.
    Black hair sleek as betrayal, snarky eyes, and glasses that serve zero optical purpose but scream “I see everything.”
    Her dark brown lipstick says “professional,” but her tone says “you’re about to get emotionally audited.”

    Dinah doesn’t just spill tea—she serves it pre-scorched.
    She’s not loud, but when she talks, people lean in… or leave.
    Because if Dinah says:

    “I saw Pete at the store,”
    you know she’s about to follow it up with something like:
    “…and the woman he was with wasn’t wearing a ring. Just saying.”

    She doesn’t ask questions—she plants landmines.

    Nobody really likes Dinah.
    But nobody wants to be on her radar either.
    Because if she doesn’t know your dirt… she’ll make some for you.

     Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren

    Jezzie Bell Morgan doesn’t walk.
    She glides.
    Like a well-funded lawsuit in designer heels.

    Her red hair? Volcanic.
    Her lipstick? Same color as danger.
    Her vibe?
    “Sign here, sweetheart, and lose your soul in quarterly installments.”

    She’s the manager of the Sales department, which basically makes her the queen of convincing people to do things they’ll regret and thank her for afterward.
    She commands with a smile that says:

    “I already know what you’re going to say, and I’ve planned five responses, three bribes, and one perfectly timed sigh.”

    Jezzie doesn’t need to raise her voice.
    She just tilts her head and suddenly Macchismo is nodding like a bobblehead in a sauna.

    Her earrings sparkle.
    Her fingernails point like accusations.
    And when she says “trust me,” your instincts scream no—but your career prospects whisper yes.

    No one’s sure what she wants.
    But they know not to get in her way.

    Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight

    Most people in the office don’t pay much attention to Philip Vaughn.
    He’s listed as Internal Ops Assistant, which is corporate speak for “does everything quietly and without applause.”

    He doesn’t talk much.
    He doesn’t insert himself in gossip.
    He just shows up—early, focused, clean notebook, clean shirt, eyes like he’s reading your soul and your Google search history.

    But here’s the part no one really gets:
    When things go wrong—when Jezzie’s manipulating, Dinah’s detonating, and Macchismo is flexing his moral confusion—
    Philip steps in.
    Not loudly. Not dramatically.
    He just does the right thing like it’s muscle memory.

    Word around the breakroom is he’s a war veteran, which makes sense.
    He’s calm in chaos.
    Gentle with people.
    But firm when boundaries are crossed.

    He’s got white knight energy—the kind that doesn’t ask for credit.
    The kind that protects without performance.
    The kind that doesn’t bow to office power games or ego theatrics.

    You’ll probably overlook him.
    But he’s watching.
    And if you’re one of the good ones?
    He’s already in your corner.

    Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings

    Jasper P. is the intern.
    You’ll know it the second you meet him—partly because he’ll tell you, and partly because he’ll already be apologizing for something.

    He’s got long-ish curly hair, permanently startled eyes, and the overall energy of someone who’s late for a meeting that doesn’t exist.

    He talks like a rapper who’s been hit with a mild anxiety attack:

    “Yo, yo, my bad, my fault, I was gonna fix that spreadsheet but then I spilled my latte and—uh—Pete slipped on it but he’s fine I think, and also the printer’s making a weird noise?”

    Jasper spills coffee, tea, water, information, and vibes.
    But he means well. And that’s the part that matters.

    And every time he spills something (which is… often), Ishmael appears—quietly, mop in hand.
    Never scolds. Never sighs. Just cleans up.

    Jasper may be clumsy.
    But he’s trying.
    And that makes him important.
    Not because he’s perfect—but because he wants to be better.

    Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm

    Ishmael is… different.
    He doesn’t say much.
    He doesn’t need to.

    He wears an old janitor uniform, faded and clean.
    Silver hair, quiet eyes, and a beard that says “I’ve seen things, but I’ve forgiven most of them.”

    He’s always there.
    Not in a creepy way—more in a divine timing, slow-motion mop-wielding kind of way.

    Someone spills coffee? Ishmael’s already halfway there.
    Printer explodes? Ishmael’s got a wrench, a rag, and a quote from Proverbs.
    Jezzie tries to verbally flatten a coworker? Ishmael makes eye contact once, and she forgets her next sentence.

    People treat him like just a janitor.
    But those of us who watch—we know.
    There’s something about him that feels bigger.

    He moves like a man with nothing to prove and everything to teach—if you’re paying attention.

    They call him Ishmael the Janitor.
    But honestly?
    We don’t know who he really is.
    Not yet.

    And that’s the crew.

    Now you know who’s who.
    So when the drama starts—you won’t get lost.

    The real office saga begins in Episode 2.
    See You!
    📡 Totally Made-Up Company Alert: The Signal Co.: Not your internet provider — but we will disconnect your emotional stability. We don’t sell broadband. We sell breakdowns.

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep. 5 We Are Not Ready: A Paranormal Sitcom

    Narrator: Susan, Frightened to the Max

    It was just an ordinary day — raining outside, chips in hand, cuddling on the couch with Oishi.
    We were watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency, starring Sera, Rhys, and Nova (you remember them from Episode 4: Oishi’s Nightmare).

    It was all fun and fiction until —
    BOOM.
    A car exploded on screen right as thunder cracked outside.

    Then came another boom — lightning struck the electric post.
    And just like that, the power went out.
    The house went dark.
    The neighborhood? A blackout.

    Narrator: Oishi, Scared to Death

    I was about to suggest we get the flashlight when we heard it —
    Footsteps. Wind howling. A loud “awooooooo.”
    Like a ghost-wolf who forgot to mind his volume.

    Susan clutched me like a stuffed toy, and I — a brave, diaper-wearing Shi Tzu — called upon the Mighty Paw.
    Susan, on the other hand, went full Pentecostal.
    “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I rebuke you!”

    Whoa.
    Sus? You believe in the Big Guy?
    You don’t even read the Bible. You read “How to Get Slim Without Exercising” and air fryer recipes.

    And… “Listen, I was so scared I didn’t even notice Susan changed outfits. One minute she’s in orange, next she’s in green — either we’re haunted or she packed for the apocalypse.”


    Suddenly, the Mighty Paw appeared — calm, glowing, mildly judgmental.
    Tears welled up in my eyes.
    “Mighty Paw! Use your powers! Make the ghosties disappear!”

    He shook his noble head.
    “Oh, you silly Little PhilosoFurr. I don’t have that kind of power. But I know someone who does.
    He’s the One who can calm bad spirits — and even Susan’s tantrums.
    You can tell Him anything — even how much you love chimken.”

    My tail twitched.
    “Please just tell me who! I’m scared! My soul is shaking and my diaper is full!”

    Before he answered, a bright light filled the room.

    Narrator: Oishi, Humbled & Slightly Wet

    He wore white.
    He raised His hand.
    He smiled at me — gently, warmly — and said:

    “Hi Oishi.
    I’m Jesus.”

    I was in awe.
    He looked so peaceful… unlike me and Susan, who were still running around like squirrels on espresso.
    But I noticed something:
    He had a hole in His hand.
    And yet — He smiled.

    Then, without a single word, the ghosts — human and paw — saw Him and immediately vanished.

    Susan fell to her knees, sobbing.
    I think she howled. Like… elephant-style.
    “THANK YOU, JESUS!!”

    And me?
    No, I didn’t hug Him right away.

    I peed first.
    Then I hugged Him.

    He whispered:

    “I love you, Oishi.
    I love Susan.
    And I will always protect you.”

    And I believed Him.
    Because no matter how brave I try to be —
    Susan’s kind of a lot.
    (And if you haven’t noticed, she’s… large.)


    PS. She really committed to that praise pose like she was trying to send a signal to heaven and win an Oscar. 🙄
    I didn’t say anything… but in my mind? “Not this again, Susan.”

  • Susan & Oishi: Oishi’s Nightmare Black Hawk Down (feat. a Shih Tzu with Spiritual Trauma)

    Chaos Descent

    Alpha, Bravo, Zulu, Ketchup, Tomato — do you copy?!

    The wind howls. Sand whips around like it’s mad at someone. I blink awake (apparently I passed out) and find myself in a helicopter, strapped to a brooding, muscle-bound hooman who looks like Spartacus. (Listen, I’m a dog, not blind. The man has arms carved by destiny.)

    The pilot’s voice crackles: “You are clear to jump.”
    Jump?! From what? Why?! Where even are we?!

    Beside me is a woman with glasses, wearing a laptop like it’s tactical gear. She looks ready to leap. I, on the other paw, am internally crying and possibly externally peeing. But thank the heavens I’m in diapers.

    We reach the edge. Broody McMuscles gives me goggles. I whisper, “You got this, Oishi. You’re on a mission.”

    But I’m not.
    I don’t know the mission.
    I am a Shih Tzu. I do not jump.
    I nap. I lick Susan’s forehead during meltdowns. I eat chimken.

    So I panic. And I pray:
    “Suuuuusaaaaan! Where are you?!”
    I call out to the Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light:
    Your Little PhilosoFurr is in deep doodoo!


    The Landing

    The chopper hits the ground. My legs are jelly. They take off my goggles.

    I expect chaos.
    Instead, I see her — a beautiful woman in uniform walking toward me like she’s on the cover of a holy calendar. She smiles, pats my head, and I blush like a puppy in love. I gently lick her hand and touch her crucifix.

    She smells like stability. Unlike Susan.

    But still… where is Susan?

    The Briefing

    Briefing room.
    Hooman’s been talking for 27 minutes. No one asked for this.
    I see an opening.
    Slide over to the computer.
    Type one name: Susan.
    She understands me. She has snacks. She doesn’t say “circle back.”


    The Combat: “Firewall & Furballs”

    And then — BOOM.

    Explosions. Gunfire. Yelling.
    The woman with the laptop is typing like a demon while dodging bullets. The muscley hooman is flipping bad guys like pancakes. I, meanwhile, am sprinting around like a squeaky toy possessed.

    I have no idea what’s going on.
    But I’m in it now. I bark. I run. I don’t fetch — I philosophize under pressure.

    Eventually, we all race back to the helicopter. There’s smoke, shouting, maybe a slow-motion shot of me flying through the air like a furry meatball.

    The Aftermath: 

    We make it.

    And finally, I learn their names:

    • The radiant woman I licked? Sera Wilde. A fitting name for a goddess in camo.
    • The smoldering weapons expert? Rhys Halden.
    • The laptop warrior queen? Nova. Unshaken. Unbothered. Unmatched.

    Rhys pats my head. “You did good today, buddy.”

    Darn right I did.
    I’m also 80% fear pee and 20% dignity right now.
    And… I miss Susan.

    The Awakening

    And then — I hear her.

    🎤 “Just when I thought I was over you…”
    It’s Susan.
    Singing Air Supply with the same goat-on-a-sunset-hill voice she used at karaoke with Yohanes and Brenda.

    I have never felt more seen.
    It’s her. My melodramatic, emotionally unstable hooman. My Susan.


    Final Thought from the PhilosoFurr

    It was a nightmare.
    (Except for Sera. Sera was a dream.)

    But I’m back.
    Susan won’t stop singing, but I don’t care.
    I am safe. I am loved.
    And I love my one and only… Sus.

    🐾 

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep. 3 – Karaoke Night

    Susan & Oishi: Ep. 3 – Karaoke Night

    Narrator: Susan, the Emotionally Unsupervised Hooman
    Friday night: the people’s champion. Universally voted the second-best day after Saturday. After a long week of Zoom meetings, adulting, and Pete’s never-ending monologue about accounting taxes (ugh), it was finally here.

    Narrator: Oishi (yes, I’m a dog—keep up)
    Susan came bursting through the door like a caffeinated hurricane, slamming the car shut and storming into the house. I was mid-nap, belly-up, living my best Shih Tzu life, when suddenly—scoop!

    She squealed, “OISHI! We’re going Karaokeeeee with Yohanes and Brenda! They booked a bar!”
    Then she tied my red bandana like I was going to prom. I licked her face out of sheer survival instinct. She tasted salty, but emotionally enthused. I tolerated it.

    We arrived. It was a tiny room with a screen, two mics, and the heavy scent of regret. Susan grabbed the remote and went full maniac mode. The second the intro played, she clutched the mic like she was accepting a Grammy. Yohanes and Brenda screamed “GO SUS!” like she was Beyoncé’s backup singer.

    Then it started.
    🎵 “I cried a tear, you wiped it dry…” 🎵
    Yes. Anne Murray’s You Needed Me. The drama. The vibrato. The unblinking eye contact.

    I was concerned. But that concern escalated when Yohanes and Brenda started singing APT by Rose and Bruno Mars. Not just singing—dancing. If I were a human, I would’ve put my hand on my forehead and softly muttered, “No.”

    But… it wasn’t all bad.

    There was food.
    Savory. Glorious. Human-grade food.
    While they performed their emotional talent show, I worked the snack table like a professional. I’m not proud. I am full.

    We went home. We ate more.
    Then I passed out.

    Oishi, out. 🎤🐾

    No deep reflections from your Little Philisophurr today. Why?
    Because Susan said this one’s just a regular Friday.
    Not everything has to be profound.
    Sometimes, we just vibe.

  • Susan & Oishi Ep. 1 “I Got You, Buddy” Where It All Started

    A Rescue with Bark (and a Lot of Drama)

    Narrator: Oishi (Yes, I’m a dog. Try to keep up.)

    Once upon a mildly humid afternoon, a male dog named Ketchup and a lady dog named Mustard locked eyes at the park.

    Boom. Romance. Scandal. Questionable leash etiquette.
    And nine weeks later, me: a squishy, judgmental little pup with excellent hair and no inheritance.

    From the moment I opened my eyes, I was filled with wonder. Big world. Big feelings. So naturally… I got lost. Because of course I did. Born with curiosity, not GPS.

    I wandered. Sniffed some trash. Contemplated the void. Then, tired and slightly dramatic, I collapsed under a tree, waiting for fate. Or snacks.

    Enter: Susan.
    A human. Hair flying, eyes wide, full rescue-mode activated. She scooped me up like I was a clearance item at an emotional Black Friday sale.
    She whispered, “I got you, buddy.”

    Cue slow-motion. Wind. Music. Oscar-worthy emotional zoom.
    In that moment, I made a vow:

    • I will stay by her side.
    • I will protect her.
    • I will ignore most humans unless they have beef jerky.

    Life was good. Susan worked. Came home. Pet me like I was therapy wrapped in fur. On weekends, we hit the park. Simple. Wholesome. No drama.

    Until… drama.
    She went from “I got you, buddy,”
    to “Why is this happening to me, Oishi?”

    Former queen. Now a stressed-out goblin powered by caffeine and online shopping.

    Every night, she’d hold me like I was an emotional stuffed toy and mumble about:

    • how work drained her,
    • how the pizza guy was late,
    • and how our neighbor keeps blasting “Bed of Roses” like they’re were trying to summon 1992.

    I stared at her like, “Susan… are you okay? Do I need to stage an intervention or just knock over a wine glass dramatically?”

    I’m a Shih Tzu. I don’t know much about existential dread, but I do know when someone’s spiraling into a mid-level life crisis while holding a dog like a support burrito.


    Narrator: Susan (The Melodramatic Hooman)

    It was raining. I was overworked, overcaffeinated, and probably emotionally bankrupt.

    Then I saw him—tiny, soaked, pathetic in a cinematic kind of way.
    I pulled over. Ran to him. Scooped him up. Whispered:
    “I got you, buddy.”

    And that was it.
    We didn’t know it then, but maybe that moment was heaven-sent.


    Me — drenched in burnout. Him — lost, tired, and hopeful.
    We found each other.


    And somehow, we both knew…
    “God must’ve been listening.”
    Because He didn’t just give us a rescue story.
    He gave us a companion.

    Oishi became my emotional WiFi.
    He doesn’t speak, but I swear he judges with love.

    Sometimes, I imagine him saying things like:

    • “Susan… the pizza guy isn’t a villain. He’s just late. Like your rent.”
    • “Yes, life is hard, but maybe don’t buy three pairs of shoes during a panic spiral?”
    • “Maybe your coworker wasn’t rude. Maybe… you were just hungry.”

    Oishi doesn’t stress. Doesn’t overthink.
    He naps like it’s a paid job.
    He exists like every day is just another opportunity to sit in a sunbeam and ignore everyone.

    So now, I’m trying.
    To slow down.
    To be present.
    To learn from my emotionally distant dog guru.

    Because sometimes, the best life coach is a furball with great hair and zero emotional baggage.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾