Tag: hatchet face

Aaaaaack-ronym!

Today’s strip see’s the return of TB’s latest shot at a running gag, places of higher education whose acronyms have other meanings. For those of you weren’t around for the second week of my first round of guest authoring back in November, we had a whole week of strips built around saying Diversity University Ironton’s name and acronym as much as possible. What a coincidence!

To TB’s credit, the acronym gag does distract significantly from the general discordance of this strip. If the presentation by the EMU reps is on Bull’s calendar, why are they introducing themselves and their purpose? Why does Bull exclaim “absolutely!” when he was not asked a question? Wait… Bull teaches classes? I had to read the strip 5 times before I started asking these questions.

Since “emu” is but a line closing the u away from “emo”, I leave you with a relevant and humorous quote (something about all this ought to be humorous):

“My name is Emo, as opposed to an Emu. Which, as you all know, is an Australian bird–a tall, ugly, skinny creature with a big beak. No similarity there.”
– Emo Philips

Pachyderp

Link To Today’s Strip

Ugh. Someone needs to confiscate Summer’s thesaurus. “Pachyderm in the parlor”…yikes almighty that’s just awful. Not even a big-headed kid as lame as Summer could utter anything that dumb in “real life”. Then perhaps Les could suggest a drug test for Keisha, who’s obviously been dipping into her mom’s Xanax or Thorazine stash, although I can’t really fault her for that if it is indeed the case.

Most importantly, though, someone needs to tell Mason to pay more attention while climbing those bannister-free stairs, because he appears to be a second away from taking a pretty bad spill. And you DO NOT want to get sick and/or injured in THAT town, trust me. That Taj Moore-hal is a death trap as it is, just ask Lisa. Yeah, I know she’s dead but still, she’ll probably be around shortly. Which reminds me, whatever you do there Mason, do NOT open the second door on the right because if the breeze blows out the candles on Les’ Lisa shrine, you won’t survive the night.

I Was Sorta Hoping You’d Tell Us, Clay

Link To Today’s Strip

Good question, Clay. It appears to be a bunch of little black dots on the floor, although I suppose it MIGHT be a “clue” involving a very important and totally unexpected plot twist that somehow would make this week become at least somewhat coherent…oh, he means the trenchcoat, doesn’t he? Sigh. Forget everything I just said.

Wow, that’s some hatchet face on Clay in panel one. All in all the artwork this week hasn’t been all that awful, I’ll give him that much. It doesn’t come close to making up for the content, though, which has been absolutely stuporous. I lost the “plot thread” a few days back, now it’s like being in the dentist’s chair, gripping the armrests and hoping that whatever he’s doing ends as mercifully and painlessly as possible. Hey, maybe some nitrous oxide would help this make more sense…..damn it, nope. Still baffled.

Atop Demerit Hill

Friday’s strip careens substantially more than ¼ inch from reality. There doesn’t seem to be any readily Googleable analogue to this situation here in reality prime. Using Google is all the effort I’ll put into this; it’s already more than Batominc puts into these plot lines. The Batominc plan is even simpler than that of the South Park gnomes.

  1. Draw some comics about a well-known social issue.
  2. Pulitzer!

We learned yesterday that “digital” shows Cindy’s age, in the words of her boss Dick “Baldy” McLitigationmagnet. This arc is turning out to be a perfect storm of things Batominc knows nothing about. Digital TV doesn’t have to be HD; I’m sure Cindy looks ravishing in SD 480i. Or at least vague and fuzzy. And current ABC News anchor Diane Sawyer is 68 years young.

As a member of the dominant boomer generation, Batominc’s stockholder ought to know that, as that generation ages while life expectancy increases, its attitudes about the visible signifiers of age are evolving. But that would require him to have his finger on the pulse of society. And there’s one thing about pulses: you can’t feel them from ¼ inch away. You have to actually touch the patient.

Batominc is bad at social observation, OK. Now, to be fair, he’s also bad at drawing his own characters. Or did Cindy get a sudden massive wrinkle in the milliseconds between panels 2 and 3?

Great Googly Gazing Galileo (not Finito Binito)

Tuesday’s strip continues with the worst pickup artist. It also drops the actual name of an actual television network. Can the cease-and-desist letter addressed to Medina, OH be far behind?

Today’s affront to continuity supersedes yesterday’s affront to proportion, as the glassware inexplicably changes to a normal size. Either that, or the 60-minute interval of miniaturization effect has expired.

As Cindy’s comma eyes glance sidelong at “Gazing Galileo”—a phrase I’ve never before encountered in any context—I’m grateful that, for a change, Batominc didn’t misspell the name of a historical Italian.

You know what bartenders love? When you wave a payment method at them. In a dead-quiet bar. Maybe next time Cindy should wave a fan of crumpled singles and yell: “Yo! Barkeep!” Because that’s how “savvy dames” behave. Although maybe Batominc categorizes Cindy as hardbitten rather than savvy. It’s not easy for me to crawl into his weird conception of women.

On the plus side, this week’s action has been taking place in a bar. I like bars and what bars are selling.