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?