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Folks, it’s taken me a bit to get up and running this post-holiday week so I’m letting the current COTW stay up there until the 10th. But I am going to engage in the honored Friday tradition of plugging stuff in this metapost:

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Beetle Bailey, 1/3/20

My favorite person in this little scene is the pizza delivery guy, walking out the door of the barracks with his face utterly without emotional affect. He’s seen how these things go down, how too many families and communities see the sudden arrival of pizza as a panacea, a quick fix to conflict and emotional struggle, only to be quickly disappointed when the true underlying issues aren’t addressed. He’s not interested in sticking around to watch it all play out. He’s got a lot more pizzas to deliver tonight.

Hi and Lois, 1/3/20

The scene: Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC’s writers’ room. The goal: Defeating Marvin, the comic strip about a perpetually shitting baby that is wildly, unaccountably popular. It is very late. The clock is ticking. Tomorrow’s deadline is near. Finally, from the back of the room comes a quiet, hesitant voice: “Vomit?”

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Crock, 1/2/20

As a Buffalo native, it’s a constant source of both amusement and mild irritation to discover that many, many people don’t know that Buffalo wings are called that because they were first invented at the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, a mere 15-minute walk from where my father lives today! Very few people are so misguided as to make the Jessica Simpson-esque mistake of believing they’re actually made from buffalo (the animal), but lots of folks seem to think that the particular type of sauce we associate with Buffalo wings got that name because of some vague association between the power of a rampaging buffalo and the power of, uh, spiciness?

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: good job, today’s Crock, for getting this basic fact correct. However, that isn’t going to distract me from pointing out all the other problems with this comic, which include, but are not limited to:

  • I think the strip’s structure encourages us to read more into the implied metaphor than it can actually support. I guess it’s supposed to mean “Grossie can’t cook, so having Grossie pack my lunch sucks, just like being a chicken born in Buffalo sucks,” but my brain keeps wanting to make it about how she’s, like, fattening him up so she can cook him or something.
  • Thanks to the supply chains of modern agriculture, most chickens are born, raised, and slaughtered thousands of miles away from where their remains will eventually be cooked and eaten, and Western New York has no real poultry industry. A chicken born in Buffalo is in fact more likely to live in some hipster’s backyard coop where it will happily live out a relatively long life providing eggs than to end up as wings.
  • Buffalo wings have in fact become a staple of bar food across the United States, and so honestly the whole geography question has very little do with it. The plain fact is that the huge majority of chickens born in the world are destined for slaughter, which quite honestly ought to put the whole business of the bologna sandwiches your wife packs for you being subpar in perspective.
  • This isn’t directly pertinent to the joke per se, but it’s well established that Maggot digs latrine pits for a living, right? And that’s what he’s standing in, eating his lunch? He’s up to his waist in a latrine pit? Pretty unpleasant, in my opinion.

Anyway, here’s a last Buffalo wing fun fact for you: in Buffalo, we just call them “wings” or “chicken wings”! Interesting, huh?

Six Chix, 1/2/20

I’m excited to see all six of the chix offer their own takes on the Chicken Little mythos one by one, and I gotta say that while I don’t on any level like this joke, I at least recognize that it more or less is a joke, which gives it a leg up on whatever it is that’s going on here. Might we get to a laugh-provoking Chicken-Little-themed punchline by the end of 2020? Dare to dream!