There's a slight chance I may not be the most observant comics critic in the world.

I first read Simon Gärdenfors' 120 Days of Simon, a graphic novel in which the author spends four months traveling and, while on the road, indulging in just about every opportunity that presents itself to have sex and do drugs and generally live the life of a libertine, about a month ago.

I wrote a review of it about a week after that.

And yet it didn't occur to me that the title may have been a riff on the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom until, oh, about twenty minutes ago.