Whoa there, Francis! Unless “cheese I can serve my buds” is code for “bud I can serve whatever cheep floozy I bring home tonight” and the gentleman behind the counter is the nattiest drug dealer outside of Apartment 3-G, you have officially lost your spot as the comics’ number one “bad boy” — I don’t care how cheap you are about it. Of course, everything else about this comic is puzzling as well. For instance, even the elitists at Whole Foods will sell you cheese for less than $14 a pound that would be wholly acceptable for a party with your loser friends in your filthy apartment. Then there’s the question of why the deli man offered you the cheapest kind in the first place, and … oh, wait, what was that? I’m sorry I’ve just been informed that the amount of time it’s considered healthy to think about Momma in any given 24-hour-period has long since elapsed. We’ll be moving on now.
For Better Or For Worse, 8/4/08
Just FYI, the long, turbulence-ridden, nausea-inducing flight towards the Lizthony union of souls is beginning its final descent. Do you like weddings? Do you like it when people realize that adventure is for other people and the best thing to do is be exactly like their boring parents? Do you like passive-aggressive emotional adulterers with clammy hands? Then the next three to eight weeks are for you, my friends.
Family Circus, 8/4/08
“And the brown liquors are best for numbing the humiliation you feel every time your freakish melon-headed grandchildren open their fool mouths!”