Tagged: Humor: Analysis Of

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Hi, It’s Me Again by Asher Perlman

I bemoan the sorry state of single-panel cartoons a lot here – because I like them, and because they used to be a massive tide rolling across popular culture, so there were many more of the things I liked, albeit mostly before I was born – so it’s nice to be able to balance that out now and then.

Asher Perlman’s first book of cartoons, covering a decade or so of toil and strife, was published last fall: Well, This Is Me . It was a best-seller, says the publisher, and I believe them. The reason I believe them is because they backed it up: they published what looks very much like a sequel to the first book just about exactly a year later, which is the time-honored model for a publisher that has found a good thing and wants it to continue as long as they possibly can.

The 2025 Asher Perlman collection is Hi, It’s Me Again , featuring the same character (and a variation on the joke) from the cover of the first book. Again, “hey, this is a sequel!” is a reaction you aim for when the first thing did well, so I am happy for Perlman and for comics-in-book-form in general.

Like the first book, it has three new short page-formatted comic sections to organize it (Introduction, Interlude, Epilogue), all with the “real” Perlman taking to another character about his work, in the usual half self-deprecating, half self-aggrandizing manner appropriate for comedy.

In between are two big sections, transparently called Part One and Part Two, each with eighty or ninety single-panel cartoons. The whole book is just about two hundred pages long, so it has almost that many pages of Perlman art and gags.

The only remaining major regular outlet for single-panel cartoons is The New Yorker, and Perlman does appear regularly there. According to the copyright page, nine of the cartoons here first appeared in that magazine – it’s possible that some of the others appeared elsewhere, but likely the vast majority of them are new to this book. (At least as far as the general public goes; my guess is that they were part of Perlman’s weekly “batches” over the past who-knows-how-long, though potentially reworked or finished for this book.)

As always, it’s difficult to say anything specific about a pile of nearly two hundred individual cartoons. Perlman has a fine modern cartoon style, with confident lines mostly of a single weight and various tones overlaid for texture and depth, and his ideas and punch lines are funny. (At least, I think so, and I’m the one reading the book.) A lot of people liked the first book; if you were one of them, this second book is more of the same stuff you already liked.

If you weren’t one of them, well, a lot of people liked the first book, so the odds you’ll like this one are solid – give it a try, won’t you? Help keep single-panel cartoons alive; it’s your civic duty.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Last Kiss: Casual Fridays by John Lustig

I felt lazy yesterday, and wanted a book I could read quickly and then write something quickly here. I may have been too lazy, if that’s possible. (I have my doubts.)

So I read John Lustig’s Last Kiss: Casual Fridays . It’s a short, digital-only collection of that strip from 2013 – much like Sex Day , which I read a couple of months ago. In fact, go see that earlier post for all the details of what Last Kiss is and how it works, if you’re interested. The short version is: Lustig takes panels from mostly ’50s romance comics, cleans them up and has them recolored in a modern style (I think by someone else), then adds snarky new captions. So it’s a single-panel comic but entirely out of repurposed artwork, a quirky hybrid of Roy Lichtenstein and Wondermark.

As you can guess from the title of the other book and the cover of this one, the jokes are often directly sexual, but Lustig leans into other clichés as well – there’s a big cluster of “women hate cooking” jokes in this book, for example. Since these are all single panels, the jokes need to be quick and tight – not a lot of room for nuance or wordplay.

I got this book – and the previous one before it – from my library app, which is how I’d recommend reading them; they may also be available from the subscription end of Kindle or other similar outlets. There is a retail price, if you’re thinking about “owning” it, but, as a 68-page book, it’s a higher per-page cost than I’d be comfortable with.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Sergio Aragones’ Groo: The Hogs of Horder

I sometimes look at a Groo book and think “that will be a quick read, and an easy one to write about.” And then I’m wrong on both counts. It happened with the three-book Friends and Foes  series in 22-23, and it just happened again now.

Groo looks quick and breezy, but it’s a wordy comic, and creator Sergio Aragones, for all his speed and facility, draws a lot of detail. So the pages are engaging and light and fun, but they demand more attention than you expect. And then I remember, after finishing reading, that Groo (the character) is aggressively stupid, but Groo (the comic) nearly always has a point of view or moral or life lesson it’s trying to impart, and untangling that takes effort.

The Hogs of Horder  was the new Groo series in 2009-2010; its four issues started in October of ’09 and the book came out in August of ’10. So it is absolutely the “the Groo take on the Global Financial Crisis” book, just to warn you.

Aragones (here, as usual, assisted by Mark Evanier on something vague related to scripting, Stan Sakai on letters, and Tom Luth with Michelle Madsen on colors) is not a subtle or nuanced creator. And, in Groo stories, there can be villains, but most of the problems in the world will be caused by Groo himself. So Hogs of Horder both wants to blame some general long-term economic shifts (moving production overseas to a lower-cost country, for one main example) for the woe in this world and also wants to make Groo personally responsible for the shift, because he’s an idiot who sinks ships and destroys stuff.

This means that we have a lot of panels with lots of mercantile folks – in Groo’s medieval-ish world, carriage-makers and home-builders and flask-makers and so on – gloating about getting loans from bankers to spend on making their stuff, but more importantly “high salaries for ourselves” (even though, if they are the owners, what they actually get is a return on their invested capital, and if they are not the owners, how come we never see the owners?) after Groo breaks things.

This runs round and round for a while, as Groo goes from the cheap foreign country to the US-analogue, breaking things and causing all of the business owners/leaders to go to the banks for loans to rebuild everything they’re doing and/or to set up new operations in that cheaper nation. It is all pitched in that speaking-to-children tone Groo often uses, and is about that level of sophistication; even readers who think capitalists are typically rapacious and destructive will find this version really overly simplified and silly.

But “silly” is the point of Groo. He breaks everything, and it is funny, and then he walks away to break something else somewhere else. Oh, and there are jokes about mendicants and cheese dip along the way. If you want a Groo story, this is one. I haven’t yet figured out a good reason to recommend any one Groo story above any other one, so just pick the Groo thing closest to your hand at the time, if you want to read one. That’s basically what I did. Maybe I’ll take a longer break before doing so again, this time.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Last Kiss: Sex Day by John Lustig

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I try not to be a gatekeeper. I have standards and expectations – and, like everyone else, some tropes and styles and story-structures I like better than others. But I like to think I can take the how and what as it comes.

So I haven’t mentioned the syndicated comic “strip” Last Kiss here before, as far as I can tell. But I’ve been aware of it, and read it here and there, and I’m definitely not against it. (I’m sure some people are – repurposing of art brings out a lot of thoughts and emotions in some people.)

The deal of Last Kiss is that John Lustig takes panels from mostly ’50s romance comics – a lot of Dick Giordano and Vince Colletta, I think, a lot of people who can’t be exactly credited seventy years later – edits them a bit, has them recolored, and adds new, humorous dialogue and captions. It’s all juxtaposition humor, with those clean-cut young men in crew cuts and young ladies in classy gowns talking about Gangnam style or whatever. Last Kiss has been running for quite some time – I want to say something like twenty years, in CBG and as a few issues in comics format and mostly on GoComics – but there’s a deep well of original material to work from, and I don’t think Lustig pushes out lots of material at any one time.

Last Kiss: Sex Day  is a mildly themed – sex is the theme, though that’s at least an underlying theme a lot of the time in Last Kiss, since it starts with romance comics to begin with – collection of the strip from 2013, a short book of about sixty pages. As far as I can tell, it’s only available digitally, which is just fine for this kind of frivolous exercise.

Last Kiss is all individual panels, and they’re presented one to a page here, with an occasional second page to show what the art looked like in its original form and with its original dialogue. (Lustig’s is always funnier, but often vastly less weird.) It’s sarcastic, it’s at least mildly “weren’t those old people totally squaresville” humor, and it’s all in the same territory of jokes. So this is a good length, and an amusing package: if you like the idea of Last Kiss, and don’t mind some mildly risqué humor, Sex Day is a fine sampler.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Just Act Normal by John McNamee

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Three years ago, when I saw the first collection of John McNamee’s Pie Comics – it’s called Goldilocks and the Infinite Bears ; it’s funny; you should read it – I thought the strip might have ended, and was mildly sad that only the first of the strip’s three collections were available in my library’s app.

Well, sometime over those three years, a second Pie Comics collection popped up there – yclept Just Act Normal  – and I just noticed and read it. In possibly even better news, McNamee has started posting to Tumblr again, with a half-dozen new cartoons this year after a six-year silence.

So the TL;DR for those of you with short attention spans: McNamee is quirky and funny, he’s got a great semi-stick-figure style – a little in the Tom Gauld vein, which is high praise – and there’s the promise of more stuff from him, too. This book is good; the first book is good. (I can’t figure out what the third book’s title is, and suspect it may be a mirage – on the other hand, the book I read, which clearly has Just Act Normal on its pages, has Book Learnin’ as a header/title in the Hoopla app, so maybe that‘s the title of his third book?)

McNamee has the kind of art that’s instantly readable and is much harder to do than it looks. (The fewer the lines, the tougher it is.) And his jokes are wry, sarcastic, modern, and true – he got his start at The Onion, which gives you a sense of the comic sensibility and tradition he mostly works in.

There are no continuing characters; it’s mostly four-panel bits, different every time. You can jump in anywhere. So you might as well.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Sharky Malarkey: A Sketchshark Collection by Megan Nicole Dong

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As far as I can tell, this 2018 book is the only collection of the “Sketchshark” comic – more than that, it’s creator Megan Nicole Dong’s only book to date, and “Sketchshark” was the title of her (long-abandoned) Blogspot site and maybe the original title of the (only mildly abandoned) related Tumblr , which now uses the book’s title.

On the other hand, she’s got a day-job in animation as a director and storyboard artist (including what looks like three shows this decade, one upcoming for 2027), which probably takes most of her artistic energy and drawing time the last bunch of years.

Sharky Malarkey  feels like one of those “throw in everything to fill up a book” collections, divided into chapters with somewhat different kinds of cartoons. There’s a twenty-page introduction, which I think was new for the book, in which the creator is picked up for a rideshare by her shark character (Bruce), incorporating what may have been a few separate individual strips about Dong’s life and cat. That’s the only major autobio material; Dong doesn’t seem to be the kind of creator who wants to talk about herself.

The first chapter, Malarky, has a bunch of general cartoons  – people on phones, anxiety issues, other life issues and relatable content, and a bunch of comics about butts. (Millennial cartoonists cartoon as much about butts as Boomer-era cartoonists did about tits – though the millennials are more gender-balanced, both the cartoonists and the butts they draw.)

Then we get the Bruce-centric chapter, There’s a Shark in Los Angeles. Bruce is shallow, self-obsessed, and a minor celebrity (at least in his own head). The fact that he is in Los Angeles is definitely not random, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Dong started doing this character when she began looking for work in Hollywood. (The book includes some pieces – older, I assume – in which the main character is still in art school, too.)

Next up is Ladythings, which somewhat heads back to the general humor of the first chapter – but focused on physical or cultural issues that are female-coded. (Often in weird ways, because Dong is a cartoonist and they have goofy ideas; there’s a short sequence about prehensile boobs, for example.)

Then comes The Animal + Plants Channel, which is pretty random. For most cartoonists, a chapter about animals would imply pets – dogs and/or cats, depending – but Dong’s work is wilder than that, with a lot of squirrels and horses, plus whales and a few returns of Bruce. And, yes, there are strips about plants as well.

Fifth is A Toad Makes New Friends in the Forest, which starts out as a picture-book-style story and morphs over into more traditional comics as it goes. It’s also an unsubtle racial allegory, and runs into the final section, Some Sort of End, in which Bruce returns for one last time to lead the big kids-movie all-singing, all-dancing ending. (Dong spent most of the first decade of her career making animation for kids – I’m not sure she’s entirely moved beyond that now – and is deeply familiar with the story beats and particular bits of laziness of that genre.)

Dong has an organic, appealing style, with bright colors enclosed by confident black lines all basically the same weight. And her humor is quirky and specific – the jokes and ideas and setups in Sharky Malarkey aren’t derivative, or ever obvious. It would be nice if she had time and energy and enthusiasm to make more comics like this, since her work is so distinctive, but it looks like animation has been taking her creative energy since the book came out – and probably paying much better. But time is long and Hollywood is fickle; who knows what will happen next? Maybe she’ll make more cartoons and be a massive success at something unexpected. 

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Mr. Lovenstein Presents: Feelings by J.L. Westover

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I like to link to webcomics when I can, though these days, it’s weirdly difficult. A lot of creators seem to just post on their normal social media, since that’s where all of the algorithm-driven traffic goes anyway, and running an ad-supported site is basically a hellscape mostly left to the hardy souls who have been doing it for twenty years and have built up calluses in the right places.

So I’m going to talk about Mr. Lovenstein , and that Tapas link seems to be reasonably relevant. But I have no idea if that’s the real home of the strip currently, or if you should just follow the creator, J.L. Westover, on Instagram or somewhere.

The good news is that the Mr. Lovenstein strip is being collected into books, which are slightly easier to point to. (Still: digital or print? Local store or chain or Internet behemoth? As usual, I pick the link that’s most convenient to me.) And one of them is what I just read: Mr. Lovenstein Presents: Feelings , published last fall by the Skybound arm of the mighty Image comics empire. (There was a time when I could remember which Image studio was connected with which original creator, but that was over twenty years ago. I dunno what else Skybound does these days, but, from the indicia, it seems to be the Robert Kirkman shop.)

This is another one of those roughly-ubiquitous strips: you’ve seen Westover’s brightly-colored lumpy figures (and the occasional animal) on the Internet here and there, shared by random contacts and friends, even if you’ve never made an effort to read the strip itself. (I never did, until this book.)

Westover is a generation or so younger than me, so I don’t know if he meant his characters to visually rhyme with the old Mr. Men and Little Miss books for kids. (And other readers might disagree that there’s that much visual similarity, but it seems pretty obvious to me.)  They are cartoony, with fat rounded lines and simplified features – the kind of precise cartooning that looks simple but is unforgiving, where every line needs to be just right. And his comics are all individual gags, with some recurring styles of characters but no obvious continuing characters. These were Internet comics, so they all have “bonus panels” – have to get people to click through to the actual home of the strip – one or two additional, black and white, beats after the main (usually color) three or four-panel comic. Bonus panel comics have an odd rhythm, like a newspaper strip that always has its main punchline in panel 3 and a muted follow-up at the end, but adding jokes to a book of jokes is generally a good thing, so I won’t complain about it more.

This particular collection focuses, as the title says, on feelings – and, in the Mr. Lovenstein context (and just a general funny-comics context) that means big feelings: crying, being upset by the world or by specific things, the desire to be loved and appreciated, some actual love or affection but not much, and a tiny little bit of actual happiness. Westover’s characters are tormented and unhappy, most of the time, but in funny ways, and ways I think are relatable, especially to people closer to his age than mine.

I find the concept of doing themed collections of a webcomic a little gimmicky – the previous Mr. Lovenstein collection was Failure, and it looks like they’ll continue in that vein – but I also remember legions of Garfield Eats Lasagna and Peanuts Baseball Gags and Jeffy Wanders Aimlessly Through the Neighborhood books, so it’s not a new thing, or an unreasonable thing, or a surprising thing. It’s just a little gimmicky, and sometimes you need a gimmick to stand out.

Mr. Lovenstein is, from the comics collected here, more emotionally honest than many gag strips – in that these-young-people-are-always-talking-about-their-mental-health way some people my age like to complain about incessantly – and it’s also pretty funny a lot of the time. And Westover is a fine cartoonist.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

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Bogart Creek, Vol.2 by Derk Evernden

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Bogart Creek may be yet another thing I discovered only after it ended; it looks like creator Derek Evernden stopped posting it on Instagram and Reddit a year or so ago. On the other hand, he’s published three books, the website is still there, and there’s a Patreon , so maybe he just managed to paywall it and actually make some money from his cartooning.

(As you know {Bob}, cartoonists used to be able to get publications to pay for their cartoons regularly – many of them making decent livings and a few making actual fortunes. Since techbros demolished print media and advertising, replacing them with outlets that only bring profit to them, cartoonists have found that making any income from drawing funny pictures has been much more complicated and difficult – much like everything else the techbros touch.)

Bogart Creek, Vol.2  is the middle of the three books to date, published in early 2021, a little more than a year after the first book . And, like I said the first time, it’s a single-panel comic in the Far Side mold, with no recurring characters or themes. It is cheerfully gory, mostly dark humor with lots of severed limbs, murderous folks (both crazed killers and gangsters, as on facing pages as I’m poking through for examples as I write this), sharks, aliens, and media references.

Now, I don’t want to oversell the darkness – it’s probably only about a quarter of the strips that feature a murder or other violent death, and, in many of those cases, the violent death hasn’t quite happened at the moment of the strip. But there’s no fluffy bunnies frolicking happily in a field – the lighter jokes are the media references and amusing wordplay and funny juxtapositions. And Evernden draws a bloody splat, or those severed limbs, a lot more often than most cartoonists – even the supposedly “dark” ones.

I like this stuff, and I think people who enjoy dark single panels will agree with me. The cover shows his visual inventiveness pretty well – that’s the caliber of his non-gory gags, and the gory ones are equally well constructed but substantially darker. If that sounds appealing, there’s three books of his work available, plus a fair bit floating around online for free as a teaser.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Only What’s Necessary: Charles M. Schulz and the Art of Peanuts by Chip Kidd

Chip Kidd is one of the premier book designers of our day, and a big proponent of comics as an art form. He also has a tendency to get…let me say “fussy”…in his designs – he came of professional age in the go-go Nineties, and that can be seen in his work sometimes. He also seems to be fascinated by the physicality of original art, and I’ve occasionally complained that tendency is not a good match for books that mean to reprint stories.

Art books want to show art, as clearly as possible, shot from the originals – it should mimic the experience of visiting a gallery. But most books with comics in them are not art books – they’re books for reading those comics. And, so, most of the time, versions of the art where you can see the color of the underlying paper or blue lines or lumps of Wite-Out or erasures are not what the audience wants or needs.

The good news is that this book here is an art book, which means Kidd’s instincts and strengths are perfectly aligned with the purpose of the book. (See up top, for the original cover of the book, as an example of what Kidd does when he has his head. The current cover of the book – much more conventional, and much more useful for anyone trying to figure out what it is, is below.)

You can see the color of the underlying paper and some tracing lines and big swoops of Wite-Out and some erasures and loose sketches in Only What’s Necessary: Charles M. Schulz and the Art of Peanuts  – and that’s the point of the book. It’s a sampling of the collection of the Charles M. Schulz Museum and Research Center, and the purpose is to show a much larger audience what it would be like to visit that museum and see a whole bunch of Peanuts originals and other Schulz drawings, full-size, up on walls with good light.

Only What’s Necessary has a lot of words up front, mostly about how wonderful Schulz was and how awesome his museum is now. I assume anyone reading this book will already believe all of that, but I suppose a book does need to have words in it, and these are appropriate. Contributors include Jean Schulz, the artist’s widow and head of that museum, Jeff Kinney, the “Wimpy Kid” creator, and Paige Braddock, cartoonist and creative head of the arm of the Schulz media empire that manages licensed properties (and, way back at the beginning of her tenure, the strip itself).

But the main purpose of the book is not the words – or, at least, not the words by other people. We do want to see Schulz’s captions and dialogue, and to try to untangle his crabbed script on sketches. (Though I have to admit I had very little luck at that.) The art was photographed by Geoff Spear, who has worked with Kidd on a lot of these projects. It’s the kind of work that doesn’t get noticed much by readers like me (maybe like you, too), but the art is crisp and clear, and all of those artifacts of drawing are as clear in the photos as I can imagine them being.

Kidd doesn’t have a formal organizational principle for the book – it’s roughly chronological by phases of Schulz’s career, which is all it needs. The focus is mostly on the strips themselves, as it should be, but there’s a lot of ancillary materials – comic books and magazine covers, games and toys – as well as abandoned strips, a few early drawings, and just a couple basically complete strips that never made it into newspapers.

So this is a book with a lot of impressive Schulz art in it, presented well and often blown up to make it easier to see the little details. I probably didn’t take as much time lingering over every page as some readers would, but I enjoyed it a lot, and was reminded yet again of the paradoxical truth of cartooning: it’s harder to make fewer lines; the simplest drawings are the most focused and precise.

You need to be seriously interested in a creator to go for an art book of their work – otherwise you just read the work. But if you’ve dug into a lot of Peanuts, and in particular if you like the way Schulz drew and would like to draw more like that yourself, this is a book with a lot of examples and (potentially) lessons to teach.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Why Are You Like This? by Meg Adams

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One of the oddest things, for me, about the contemporary cartooning world is that everybody has to be an entrepreneur now. (I mean, yeah, I know, late-stage capitalism hits all of us and all that jazz, sure, but even more so for cartoonists.) It used to be that cartoonists who did lots of different things – single-panels, mostly disconnected from each other – sold them individually to magazines or other outlets, but cartoonists all wanted to come up with a concept they could turn into a strip: a concept that supported a stream of stories, with new entries regularly, probably multi-panel. And some larger organization would back that strip, push it out into the world, gather the money, and keep the whole engine running for decades.

But, these days, even the most successful recent new strips of the 21st century – aside from a very few newspaper launches like Crabgrass – are all webcomics. On the positive side, that means the creator owns it all. On the negative side, the creator has to do it all: build a website, design and source merchandise and reprint books, run fundraisers, set up advertising, and everything else that actually brings in revenue on top of just creating the work.

And it may be a cliché, but cartoonists are not generally known for their organizational skill, entrepreneurial zeal, and eagerness to sell their work to other people. On the other hand, we have been getting a lot of interesting strips from good cartoonists, so the system seems to be working…but I suspect there’s an element of “young cartoonist has enough energy and gumption to set it up and run it for a few years, then gets ground down by the lack of stable cash flow and aforementioned late-stage capitalism.”

Because I want to see cartoonist have long, complex, interesting careers. If they can do that in high-profile ways, so I don’t have to take a lot of time and effort to chase their work down, that would be even better, because I am lazy.

These thoughts are brought to you today by What Are You Like This? , the first collection of the ArtbyMoga online strip by Meg Adams, a talented younger cartoonist from the Pacific Northwest. The book is from Andrews McMeel, the book-publishing arm of one of the surviving major comics syndicators, so she’s somewhat plugged into what used to be the big engine of comics success. But ArtbyMoga strips originally appear on Adams’s social media, cast out for free into the world in hopes that will lead to engagement and clicks and eyeballs and merch sales and Ko-Fi tips and so forth. (There is something inherently Underpants Gnomes-esque about modern webcomics, particularly those that live on Instagram. To editorialize briefly, it’s what happens when you let your economy be dominated by techbros who are really good at making sure most of the potential money in any system comes to them and them alone.)

But I’m supposed to be writing here about Meg Adams comics! She’s got a energetic, expressive cartoony style, with big fat confident lines and great faces. Her work is in the roughly autobio area – I won’t assume how much the “Meg” and “Carson” in her strips really map to her real self and husband; comic exaggeration is a thing that exists – and her strips are pretty domestic, grounded in the lives of this couple and their various animals (I think two dogs and three cats).

I particularly like how Adams draws herself. She has a conventionally pretty version of her face she does some of the time, for quieter, more normal moments. But she also has a more distorted, cartoony self that pops up a lot – see the cover, with that weird thin nose, distorted eyes, and unsettling mouth. I’m always impressed by humorists (in comics or out of it) who are confident enough to throw a Gookie and make themselves the butt of the joke, and Adams does that really well.

So I want you to support Meg Adams, and cartoonists like her. Read their comics, buy and read their books, buy T-shirts if you can, buy sketches or whatever if it strikes your fancy. Click like and subscribe, as they say. You can start with this book: it’s out now, it’s very funny, and it’s pretty cheap, too. Thank me later.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

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