I don’t play poker so I don’t know if it’s normal for three friends to be randomly assigned a total stranger as a fourth player for a game in a casino or card room or grim basement illuminated by a single lightbulb where you’re playing on a giant wire spool instead of a table. I do know that if in mid-game, that guy started, in the typical manner of his species, grunting out “Hey, who wants to fuck, huh? Who wants to fuck me. Who’s horny. I’m horny. I’m hornt up”, I for one would find it quite off-putting.
Gasoline Alley, 9/10/23
Speaking of off-putting, I can decide which possibility I find weirder: that we’re expected to believe that random people in the Gasoline Alley universe send letters looking for advice to Joel, a weird old man who does not have a newspaper column or blog or any other public venue in which to answer them, or that we’re expected to believe that people in the real world send letters looking advice to the creators of Gasoline Alley so that they can be answered in character by Joel in a Sunday strip. For the record, I don’t believe either of these things! I simply refuse to! I believe in a world that makes sense, damn it!