With utmost apologies, of course, to Adam Huber, though in truth none could possibly suffice. Sorry, Adam, I couldn’t help myself.
To the other, such exercises are useful; in printed news media, the notion of column inches is disappearing into the electronic aether, but it does still exist for those whose writing aims to appear in the paper edition. And the nature of cartooning, of course, will always force some consideration of panel space.
This is the important part, because just how far does one push in order to make the joke work? There is an obvious hole in the remix, but it’s hard to explain just how our hero comes to expect that the stuff in the container is his grandmother’s cremated ashes mixed into baby fat and other such disgusting ingredients that she might await chthonic resurrection. (more…)
And then Adam had to go and ruin it. I mean, you’d think living in a world infested with Lovecraftian monsters would be … well, you know … interesting. In real life, we don’t beat them off with brooms; we just suck them in alleys. Elect them. I mean, elect them.
Damn it. Never mind.
You never understand.
God, why can’t you fucking understand!
Huber, Adam. “Sink or Swim”. Bug Martini. 1 April 2015.
Every once in a while, you know, it’s just what you need.
Today is another of those depressing days in America that really are just too common. But then … I don’t know, it’s hard to explain but maybe that’s because it is difficult to understand why it is hard to explain.
Right. Me, me, me.
Movin’ right along ....
Those who get the reference in the detail from Bug Martini know exactly what comes next.
Still, though, it’s a fun two words: Cthulhu Bug.
Meanwhile, it is difficult to speculate on the implications of a society in which Cthulhu is a ray of sunshine under gray skies.
Huber, Adam. “The Craft of Unconditional Love”. Bug Martini. 4 December 2014.
There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we listen and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life. But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and then we know that we have looked back through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.
—H. P. Lovecraft
This is …
… your world.
… your America.
… your today, tomorrow, and yesterday.
This is a bad joke, as many have long suspected of life itself. This is a testament to the Sisyphan Absurd. This is the essence of the painful and confusing dimensions in which we live. This is what makes us human, and this is why it is tragic.
Come in, come in. All are welcome. Shield your eyes if you must. Clap your hands over your ears. Run in terror, if you think that will help. But don’t say you weren’t warned.