I've heard rants about The Family Circus before. Anyone with even a smiggen of taste hates this abominable comic strip, but this is my blog and I'll be an unoriginal piece of repeating shit if I want.
Even the reelection of President Bush isn't as damning to America's rep as is the success of Family Circus. The bad art, ham-fisted moralizing, brutally unfunny punchlines, and the same stories repeated ad nauseum all combine to make me want to poison my morning coffee. Damn, those kids are insufferably psuedo-cute. If I ever have children like that I swear to upper-case God I'll sell them to an overseas slave ring.
The man behind this daily travesty, Bil "with one 'L'" Keane, occasionally pretends the strip is drawn by his seven-year-old son. I call shennanigans on this practice, since Mr. Keane is a hundred years old. His great-grandson might be seven, but not his son. The whole elaborate charade was created for days when Bil doesn't have it in him to equal the strip's already low standard of drawing and needs an excuse to scribble.
The worst part of Family Circus, by far, is the dead grandfather. Dead Gramps is always watching from heaven, his ghostly visage hovering unseen as those fucking kids do something morons find adorable. He sits on a cloud surrounded by his also-dead friends, making comments like "Billy's a real chip off the old block," as they all smile knowingly; voyeuristic spectres the lot of them.
I think Grampa should be burning in hell. That would make the proceedings a lot more interesting. It seems he was a real bastard when he was alive; he cuffed the wife around, he had simulated sex with storefront mannequins, he was a lousy tipper...the list goes on.
And since Gramps is burning in hell, he should be looking at life's dark moments, not just the warm-hearted stuff. This could lead to the following scenerios and grandfather's commentary.
Jeffy is touched inappropriately by his scoutmaster. "Get your meat-hooks off my grandson. Ouch, my insides are on fire."
Dolly has drunken up-against-the-wall sex with a stranger at a frat party. "My granddaughter is a worthless strumpet. Ouch, vultures are ripping my eyes out."
Billy pushes his common-law wife down a flight of stairs. "Billy's a real chip off the old block. Ouch, my feet are being eaten by rats."
Tune in next week for my "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" episode of Beetle Bailey.
Even the reelection of President Bush isn't as damning to America's rep as is the success of Family Circus. The bad art, ham-fisted moralizing, brutally unfunny punchlines, and the same stories repeated ad nauseum all combine to make me want to poison my morning coffee. Damn, those kids are insufferably psuedo-cute. If I ever have children like that I swear to upper-case God I'll sell them to an overseas slave ring.
The man behind this daily travesty, Bil "with one 'L'" Keane, occasionally pretends the strip is drawn by his seven-year-old son. I call shennanigans on this practice, since Mr. Keane is a hundred years old. His great-grandson might be seven, but not his son. The whole elaborate charade was created for days when Bil doesn't have it in him to equal the strip's already low standard of drawing and needs an excuse to scribble.
The worst part of Family Circus, by far, is the dead grandfather. Dead Gramps is always watching from heaven, his ghostly visage hovering unseen as those fucking kids do something morons find adorable. He sits on a cloud surrounded by his also-dead friends, making comments like "Billy's a real chip off the old block," as they all smile knowingly; voyeuristic spectres the lot of them.
I think Grampa should be burning in hell. That would make the proceedings a lot more interesting. It seems he was a real bastard when he was alive; he cuffed the wife around, he had simulated sex with storefront mannequins, he was a lousy tipper...the list goes on.
And since Gramps is burning in hell, he should be looking at life's dark moments, not just the warm-hearted stuff. This could lead to the following scenerios and grandfather's commentary.
Jeffy is touched inappropriately by his scoutmaster. "Get your meat-hooks off my grandson. Ouch, my insides are on fire."
Dolly has drunken up-against-the-wall sex with a stranger at a frat party. "My granddaughter is a worthless strumpet. Ouch, vultures are ripping my eyes out."
Billy pushes his common-law wife down a flight of stairs. "Billy's a real chip off the old block. Ouch, my feet are being eaten by rats."
Tune in next week for my "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" episode of Beetle Bailey.
3 Comments:
Maybe Gramps himself gave Jeffy the old porksword plug before fucking off to hell.
I'm with you on this: Family Circus is hell. I hate those forced-cute episodes more than I hate the pop cultural moral compass of TV show 7th Heaven.
Looking forward to Beetle "In My Cornhole" Bailey.
What about Marmadick?
I'm waiting for Cathy to discover that she's actually a lesbian stripwhore , and she'll start trolling other comics. Maybe Blondie.
My favourite comic strip is the one where Garfield gets plugged by Jon.
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