Slylock Fox, 11/12/11
I agree wholly with the lady in this cartoon: when confronted with something that tears a hole in your conception of reality, something whose very existence makes it clear that either the universe is profoundly different from what you’ve been led to believe or that you’ve descended into howling madness and will probably never get out — something like, say, a grinning, tongue-wagging, seven-foot-tall bipedal bear-dog thing sitting on your couch — I would almost certainly ignore it and hope very much that it went away. Yep, just hangin’ out right here on the sofa, next to the fur-covered demon-nightmare, which isn’t really there, you’re just reading the paper and drinking your coffee, and sitting way over here on the end of the couch, by choice, certainly not because some horror-beast is sitting there with you, because it isn’t. When it jostles you in the back, even gently, that’s when this strategy fails. That’s when you have to turn it around and look it in the eyes. Those huge, happy, soulless eyes. God have mercy on your soul.
As far as most readers are concerned, Dagwood’s life is impossibly charmed: the doting and gorgeous wife, the low-impact 9 to 5 job that allows him to nap most of the day in exchange for a little mild physical abuse, the ability to eat as much unhealthy food as he wants without ever seeming to gain a pound. It’s only occasionally that we get glimpses of the fact that he has larger dreams, and that he’s too scared to chase after them, and that his own cowardice is slowly killing him inside.
Apartment 3-G, 11/12/11
I’m sorry, modest in every way? Look at all that damn clavicle! What the hell kind of half-assed oppressive chastity cult is this?