Are you a worrier? Everyday problems got you all stressed out? Can't seem to ever have peace of mind? Well, you might be a Wes Wilson - a WORRY WART!


Yes, Leon Lazarus - totally his real name - is back from the dead to bring us this amazing story of Wes Wilson, who worries about totally normal everyday things like being dropped out of the sky by a laughing green ghost. Art's by John Forte, which was his real name and who on better days could be found drawing Superman.


Yup, it's anxiety and tension for Wes. If he isn't worrying about his job or his car he's making up stuff to be worried about. Somebody invent Prozac, stat!


And when he gets home he takes it out on his wife and kid. Things look bleak for the Wilson family, notes the mysterious eavesdropping stranger! And when dad sees Billy enjoying himself and not worrying like he should be doing - uh oh!


Skating! Patronizing expensive laundries! Accepting magical presents from a Mr. Grisby! Why, I won't stand for it!


That night, Mr Grisby pays a visit to Wes and things are about to get all Twilight Zoney up here in this bizzotch! You think you had problems before - now you're a caveman! You're cold and lost and hungry and nothing could make you more miserable! Or could it?


As we all know, fire was invented by General Electric in 1920, when they changed the laws of physics and the nature of the universe to permit combustion. Before that, people would cook food by just putting things out in the hot sun and hoping for the best.


Cold, lost, hungry, wet, menaced by dinosaurs - but THOSE problems were merely contrived exceptions to the problem rule and not at all applicable to Wes Wilson's amazing super problems! Mr Serling - er, I mean, Mr Grisby is going to have to work overtime to convince Wes that somebody somewhere might maybe have had bigger problems. Maybe.


Wes Wilson - Worst Gladiator Ever.


And with a wave of his pudgy hand, Grisby sends Wes careening through time and space to become a slave serving the army of Attila The Hun. Slave, whatever! *I* had an overheating Chevrolet!


I'm dying of cholera in the midst of the Black Plague! See how unlucky I am? I had to die of the ONE DISEASE that everybody else doesn't have!


To Valley Forge, to an attack by Indians, whirling through a universe of woe and heartbreak and suffering, will any of this convince Wes that his mid 20th century white man complaining is small potatoes?


Finally, after a journey through time and space and a tomahawk in the back, Wes realizes that, cosmically speaking, his problems aren't really that bad, and that maybe he should quit being a dick. And get a queen size bed already, this isn't "I Love Lucy," for chrissakes.


Work? Creditors? Bills? Roller skates? Not gonna worry about any of it! Which is probably the attitude that got Wes into these problems in the first place, but whatever! Not gonna worry!!

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