Thursday, January 17, 2008
So, Tub... How Are You Likin' That New Haircut?
Suck it up, Tub. You just have a couple of "razor bumps." Admittedly, they're each the size of a Storck Chocolate Riesen. But still.
Now, you just have to grow out your body hair and adorn your pudgy mug with a killer biker 'stache, and the people from Colt Studio will be knocking down your door! (Also, you might want to get a pair of nipples grafted to your chest. In size XXXL.) Of course, you'll need a trustworthy agent to manage your affairs. Here. Take my card.
Hey, this ice-cream tastes like high-powered rifle!
The blocking here baffles the hell out of me. Angst was holding a rifle just a couple of panels earlier, with no indication of him being anywhere near a refrigerator or kitchenette, and then he's suddenly holding a solid gold cafeteria tray with a heapin' helpin' of ice-cream on it. Where did it even come from? And is he still holding the rifle? Perhaps, between his legs? Lovingly? Because -- barring the addition of a caption box that reads "Five minutes later" -- I can only imagine one way for this panel to make any sense at all, and it requires the rifle to be a kick-ass "sundae gun" that discharges cherry-vanilla ice-cream.
Kee-rist. O'Neil's writing gives me a headache. An ice-cream headache. I think I'll let my gaze wander over to the Hostess ad on the facing page.
Ah! Much better.