In time past, there was art in the Sunday paper. No, I’m serious. There really was. It was art of a unique sort: unpretentious, ironic, and witty. It, naturally, appealed largely to children. The Sunday comics used to be an art form. I think they died, but I am not sure: I haven’t been able to find the obituary. I am uncertain if that is because they aren’t dead or just because no one cares enough to write the two-inch article. Perhaps the comics are suffering from a terminal illness and they are on life support.
I am lamenting this ignored injustice: the Sunday Funnies…aren’t. There are impostors in the paper every Sunday brazenly propping up their feet in places that used to be reserved for Calvin & Hobbes or Bloom County.
Today’s comics are not much more than badly rendered, poorly colored, thinly veiled political rants, bad attempts at teenage…
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