CSotD: Nothing is revealed (that Facebook would object to)
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No kidding, Harry Bliss. No kidding.
Thank goodness comics cover a variety of topics, although right now a substantial portion of them appear to be dedicated to depictions of Barrack Obama as Richard Nixon.
Many cartoonists avoid looking at other cartoons for fear of absorbing an idea and later inadvertantly using it without recalling that it wasn't their own.
Understandable. But, for political cartoonists, I'd suggest doing your sketch and then taking a gander at what else is already up there, to avoid doing the same freaking cartoon as every other cartoonist in the nation. I can certainly accept some coincidences on the first day of an issue, but, come on, guys. Enough Obama-as-Nixon.
Draw a weeping Statue of Liberty or something.
Note that this was a comment on artistry and not on politics. We're taking a break from politics today.
I've noted this before, but I gave copies of Norm Feuti's book, "Pretending You Care" — which is not simply a collection of Retail strips but a book on working in retail, illustrated by strips — to the Gen-X, mall-wise members of my family, and one of them responded that, while it was all true, it was too close to the bone to be "funny."
And that from the one with the most pronounced taste for gallows humor.
I found it hilarious but, yeah, completely true. Norm has stumbled over the fact that sometimes you can be absurd without exaggeration, and the only comic license taken here is that Cooper is simply more out front in his analysis than would be safe in the workplace.
The last two years I worked at one paper, HQ and HR got together to transform the annual review from a conversation between supervisor and subordinate into an endless time-wasting succession of trips into bureaucratic, one-size-fits-all hell. We had to do a self-assessment, which meant filling out a lengthy form some of whose questions applied (vaguely) to your actual work and some of which didn't in the least.
Then the form was reviewed by your boss and submitted, and then HR would send it back for revision, based on their need for everything to be complete even if it didn't apply, and for the relevant portions that you and your boss and anyone in your department could understand to be rewritten into something that a random chimpanzee would agree with, even if it no longer related to your duties and responsibilities.
The first year I had to do this, I answered the question about how I had improved safety — a question obviously germane to the press room but less so for educational services — by saying I had stowed all the boxes of stuff to avoid a tripping hazard. This was true because, in that year, I had been forced to move my office three times, but was by then in what was promised to be a permanent spot.
The next year, I had no safety improvements to report, but, by God, they kicked it back and insisted I come up with something. I suggested to my boss that I could say I made sure my shoe laces were always tied, but we eventually invented something that satisfied them.
And I got my three percent raise.
And there was much rejoicing.
Speaking of much rejoicing, here is some from the much-under-appreciated Watch Your Head, in which Quincy has finally gotten his degree from Otis and I'll bet is not going very far out into the world because (A) what would the strip be without him? and (B) we always had a few of those guys who couldn't quite cut the cord hanging around campus post-grad.
In this arc, not only is Quincy now a bachelor of something or other — and nobody is more qualified by effort and experience to call himself a "bachelor" than Quincy — but has hijacked the JumboTron for one last grand prank.
And, while we're on the topic of rapscallions and pranks:
Don Asmussen nails it by combining the IRS kerfuffle with the release of Wesley Snipes last month and the observation that, yeah, the Tea Party is probably going to get kid-gloves treatment going forward, at least for a little while.
And then there is the matter of Bea Arthur Naked. I can't keep up with everything, but apparently Asmussen can, and, yeah, not only is there a nude, unauthorized portrait of Bea Arthur but it just sold for $1.9 million. And the Daily Beast got kicked off Facebook for 24 hours for reposting it there.
Given that you can't make this stuff up, I'm impressed that Asmussen can make it funnier than it was to begin with.
I'm also impressed with Mike Baldwin's talent for happy coincidence:
Don't worry, lady. Nobody dares to post that stuff, at least not on Facebook.
Not the Daily Beast, not Frank Cho.
I'm thinking of writing a play called "No Tits, Please. We're Facebook."
While you wait for that to be released, here's a bit of musical entertainment from a sleazy, outlaw saloon that could only be more authentic if they found a relevant nude painting to hang up over the bar:
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