Ziggy is Terrible

Well, just about every newspaper comic strip is atrocious, this is obvious to all four people who still read newspapers. Today, however, my ire seems to be directing itself towards the pen and paper abomination that is Ziggy. 

Seen here trying to hug you, sans pants.

Ziggy was first published in 1969, and continues to run in newspapers to this day, likely in an attempt to get more Americans to believe in Satan. The premise of Ziggy is simple, the man is a short, pathetic loser whose only friends are animals he has lured into his home, likely with promises of a quick and merciful death to save them the pain of remembering his wretched face. In fact, to call Ziggy a short pathetic man is an insult to short, pathetic men everywhere. Ziggy makes George Costanza look like Michael Jordan on stilts. To put this in perspective: if you told Charlie Brown that he would grow up to be Ziggy, he would ask Lucy to set up the football right at the edge of a cliff. Every time a newspaper picks up Ziggy, doctors in the area start writing up Zoloft prescription. Let's take a look at some strips, shall we?

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Reading Ziggy As A Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight.

Apparently, Ziggy has taken a dramatically dadaist turn since I last read it.  If this were any other comic, I would quip about how that is most definitely a joke about ejaculation. However, since this is Ziggy, I find myself vomiting in my mouth instead.

The sommelier, in a noble attempt to put poor Ziggy out of his misery has replaced  his wine with anti-freeze. Little does he know that Ziggy's body has been exposed to far more corrosive toxins in his oft-attempted, never successful attempts to numb his pain. Ziggy is still so touched by the gesture, he manages to squeeze a single tear out of his eye, an act akin to squeezing blood from a desert stone.

What is my purpose? Why am I here? Why can't I just sleep forever?

Upon seeing this panel, Reggae superstar Ziggy Marley had his name legally changed to Charles. 

Tom Wilson's sense of humor is so dry it makes sand feel uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure he just pops a leather flip-flop in the oven at 375 degrees for an hour every morning and pulls out a Ziggy strip.

Ziggy is perfectly okay with the fact that his hideously deformed. vaguely avian friend understands the logistics of online auctions. He is, however, having a harder time understanding how he operated a computer with no fingers.

This comic reveals that Ziggy is as morally repulsive as he is physically so by incinerating his only friend's children right before her eyes.

This must be Ziggy's Eskimo equivalent, despite his substantial girth and what I imagine is a fairly well-developed tolerance to the cold, the Eskimo refuses to remove his parka in weather warm enough to traipse around in the buff. Perhaps our protagonist (and I use that term reluctantly) has finally found a  human friend.

Sound advice from the goutish teapot to the kettle. Fuck this, I need a drink.

7 Casting Changes That Could Have Saved Awful Movies

1.

15 hours in Photoshop.

2. 

I am a genius.

3. 

Starring four-legged Dolph Lundgren. A creature known to make Eldritch Abominations just wanna go home.

4.

Which, while we're on the subject of Lovecraftian horrors...

5.

I smell an Oscar.

6.

Replace Sophia Coppola with a bowl of wilted greens.

7. 

I'm not even sure this would work.

Hollywood, let me save you.

Is this irony? Or just dumb?

Habit 8: They know little verb.

Goodbye hangovers, I shall miss thee.

I miss being hungover after a morning of hard drinking. To be clear, I don't miss the projectile vomiting or the feeling that a particularly feisty rodent is looking for a way out of my skull. No, what I miss is that feeling of equity. I miss the sense that my body was doing me as much harm as I was doing it. Now that they don't come around anymore, it feels like I'm cheating. It's not like I can hear my liver calling for help, my esophagus can't exactly write social services. So good-bye hangovers. You'll never know what you did for me.

Included this in all the invoices I sent out today.

Best response gets a prize.

Just got this through the fax.

Any Kubrick fans responsible for this?

My boss told me to file this. I asked where it should go. He told me to make a folder for it. What the hell am I doing with my life?

Things I do not get paid enough to do.

So, in the spirit of worker's rights and as a stance against economic inequity, I've decided to form a union. Now, traditionally, unions get their strength from their numbers. Their numbers allow them to effectively negotiate agreements with management and secure things like better working conditions, higher pay and more cushiony toilet paper. 
My union will be slightly different. First of all, I will be its only member. Secondly, while most unions get their power from their size or from solidarity within the community, my union will get its bargaining power mostly because all my bosses think I can and will beat them savagely at a moment's notice. Lastly, while most unions have lame names like "AFL-CIO" (insert your own silly acronym joke here), my union will be different. My union's name (selected after extensive research by my PR team, which consists of me and a bottle of single malt) is "The Coalition of Super Radical Awesomites dedicated to Economic Awesome". Here are our (read: my) demands.


Union members will no longer have to perform the following tasks:
-Anything involving a toilet.
-Anything involving a typewriter. (If you think that this being 2011, this would not be a necessary clause, you have a better job than I do.
- Storing physical copies of anything less important than blood pacts with cosmic deities. 
- Running to the supermarket to pick up bottled water.
- Doing anything involving bottled water. Seriously, we have a fucking Brita, people.
- Trying to haggle with AT&T.
- Trying to haggle, period. I am not trying to get a durian for ten fewer ruples, I'm dealing with massive fucking corporations here. 
- Fixing anyone's computer issue without being allowed a break afterwards long enough to slowly savor a nice Martini.
-You know what? Fuck your computer. Seriously, what even compelled you to GET Bonzi Buddy? Are you five?

Fucking terrible. Also, you may want to brush up on punctuation, you stupid purple fuck.

-Lifting anything heavier than a notepad, unless I: A) Look totally badass doing it. B) Get to hit something with it.
-Laughing at jokes to seem polite.
-Really, doing anything to seem polite.
-Calling code enforcement for anything other than mischief and mayhem.
-Waiting to reply to text messages. I don't care if I'm in the middle of defusing a bomb, if the lovely lady I fancy says something sweet I'm sending a smiley, dammit.
-That said, I am done smiling at work. Unless my boss has a serious medical emergency, in which case, all bets are off.


I figure that's a solid start. If this goes as planned, I plan on instituting further policies:
-Union members will not be asked to wear anything less comfortable than a freshly laundered silk toga.
-Union members will not be made to drink anything that has not been dosed, fermented or distilled.
-Union members will try to make it to the toilet, but will not be reprimanded should they fail.


I feel like this arrangement should work to the benefit of all. Well, except management. But fuck 'em. I'm union now.