Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Heathcliff's blowjobs are not persuasive enough to stop the blue fury of the New York Police Department.
Also, I'm stunned that the cat got proper legs and feet, considering that the side door of Mr. Nutmeg's car closes shut on a tire that's doing its best to look like a droopy breast with a manhole cover squeezing it to death.
Monday, April 27, 2009
While the "joke" is self-explanatory (and really, who doesn't enjoy shitting on Heathcliff?), I'm guessing that the larger point behind this strip is that Heathcliff is some kind of battletank, capable of completely ignoring acorns and bird dung as he takes his destructive, broken-footed stroll through the neighborhood. He doesn't even look annoyed with the squirrel's antics, most likely because he's about to cut down the telephone pole and sodomize him with it.
Friday, April 24, 2009
There's a reason for the abject terror in Iggy's eyes: Look at the look on Heathcliff's face, then look at where Iggy Nutmeg's comb-hand is.
Happy 400th post, Heathcliff.
Edit: Either what I thought was happening is happening, or Heathcliff's body is twisted at impossible angles, which makes Mrs. Nutmeg's comment even creepier, considering the huge, dead cat on their laps.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Heathcliff built a wall, impaling three dogs in the process. As they wail their final death moans, the dog catcher oddly remarks that Heathcliff is an artist and will be better appreciated when dead.
Edit: The dog catcher's opinions on art should immediately be discredited. He's the type of idiot who requires a sign above his desk to tell him what his fucking job is.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
For a second, I thought that was Alfred Hitchcock going up the escalator, but its just a purple lady amongst some other half-colorless stuff. I don't know why there's a lamp in the flea collar section, a flea collar section in a department store, or a man in the department store whose job is to hold a coat hanger full of flea collars for the one cat in the universe who shops for flea collars at the department store, but I do know that he's jacking off on the job. They look down on that in med school.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
"This economy is tough on everybody," the former CFO of a division of a major multinational American banking conglomerate said to the housecat selling mice on the sidewalk three miles from the rich, affluent, gated community where he'd lived until the Sword of Damocles crashed upon his neck.
Day 53, he thought to himself, spoke to tabby cat; looks like good source of protein. Things are rough. Burned last scraps of suit for warmth; stole new jacket from neighborhood kid. Tight. Uncomfortable. Serviceable for time being. Starvation a good diet.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Heathcliff believes that the umpire isn't properly calling balls and strikes and thus takes it upon himself to wash the fellow's eyes out with Clear Eyes. In a funny twist, it turns out that being sprayed full bore in the eyes with any sort of liquid will blur one's vision. Such action usually isn't condoned on the diamond, even if such a proposed solution were to work, so Heathcliff's action, noble in intention though they may be, will likely see him ejected from the game. Amidst all this, a portly, bean-shaped man quips to his teammate about the irony of the situation the umpire finds himself in.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The only explaination for Heathcliff's ability to send a bowl of food flying with enough force to break Mr. Nutmeg's ankles despite hitting him in the head, using only a tennis racket, besides a lack of basic anatomical knowledge on the part of the artist?