Heathcliff is, at least partially, A DRACULA.

Heathcliff forces mice to watch cat porn starring Riff Raff's girlfriend.








Hawt.

As I embark on the big 20, Peter Gallagher assures me that I'm still tasty.

Thanks, babe.

There are, literally even, hundreds of Garfield strips about the same fucking thing that are way, way better.

Hundreds. By Jon Davis. Wrap your head around that.

Heathcliff doesn't know metric.

The 1,000 yard stare is a gift given to war vets and perverted old women.

The dinner bell: A triangle since 2008 (and still in use, too!).

Heathcliff: One fat motherfucker.
Tailors: Don't have much use for anything other than their arms, neck, and head.
Owner-Lady's Friend: Has been erased.

Heathcliff's Owner-Man killed the scorekeeper.

One shouldn't make pizza dough with Red Bull.

Uhh...uhh...uhh...

Can't...speak.

You have to give Spike credit for defending against a Satanic point guard. Heathcliff's even speaking in tongues.

Heathcliff has been gassed by the Joker, resulting in his insanity and ability to split in two.

A bunch of cats are looking to beat the shit out of a guy who smokes. They find one. A loser mistakes them for a fan club. Tomorrow, 3 pm, under the garbage can on top of the trash heap. Be there.

Heathcliff is still trying to impress that chick, this time with his gangsta' trough.

Heathcliff wants to fuck that Marcy-from-Peanuts looking friend of the family. Owner Woman thinks it's cute.

And a home decorating problem. I mean, seriously! Look at that wallpaper! And those...well...I don't even know what those things are. Pictures? Cuckoo clocks with the bottom part of their pendulum cut off? Can you say "tacky?" Can somebody get that freakin' cat out of the corner and...call HGTV or something? Hideous!

Peter Gallagher decided to commemorate 100 days of partnership via upgrading an old strip.

It still sucks.

Heathcliff is somewhat better than Caligula.

In the world of Peter Gallagher, all women are ugly, all men have brooms below their noses, and all cats have money and snowboard with flounder. Trapped in a world he didn't create, Paul Rodgers ponders which weapon would be best for bludgeoning Peter until he drew better. And wrote better. And thought of the poor, poor flounder.

Heathcliff and his bitch are indeed texting each other...on their Cybikos.

I call it; "Artist Who Can't Draw, w/Various Peppers on a Nightstand."

Recipe For Comedic Failure

1/2 parts replacing dogs with cats.
1/4 parts awful punchline.
1/4 parts current fad (poker).
A pinch of cat wearing spectacles and smoking cigar.

Add to boiling water until limp and lifeless and store in a cool, damp place until you run out of original material.

That's not a real vet (like they'd have a bag that said "vet"): Heathcliff has died.

He'll be back tomorrow though.

Heathcliff tries to play tuba for his extremely meh-looking girlfriend, but the tuba becomes sentient and thinks the notes instead of playing them. A housewife is unimpressed.

I'm not going to expose you all to the original punchline. It was worse than "I hate Monday."

OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST FUCKING COMIC STRIP EVER! A BOY AND HIS CAT ARE WATCHING THE SUPER BOWL...AND GET THIS...IT'S BORING! AND THE COMMERCIALS ARE FUNNY! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT? I. CAN. NOT.

You know how you know a restaurant's good? Four star reviews? No. The Chef has his own TV show where he calls people "fucking donkeys" and forces fat people to run for the choicest cuts of meat? No. You can find their name and face on 100 different things at the store? No. Well how?

When you're walking into the restaurant and you see something being arrested. That's how.

Ohhhhhhh...

lol, wot'd dis den? Heathcliff takes something to the Supreme Court (MARKED BY BLOCK LETTERS), and it's decided that cats are number one.

Honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to say to such a notion?