Cathy Friday

Welcome to Cathy Friday! This week I'm doing something a little different. This week, every Cathy had the same theme; Cathy and Irving (I just can't with that name) talking about their future. I decided that all of them were stupid and grating in their own little way, so I'm going to quickly analyze them all! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to check myself into a Mental Institution....

(And as always, click to make big)

Cathy seems to have their lives all figured out like some kind of goddamned Miss Cleo. Irving is pissed because he could have used this information to assist his compulsive gambling addiction. The dogs are bored to death by all of this and are either sleeping or dead (but if I were their dogs, I would hope for death). Cathy is wearing her signature "As Sexy As a Root Canal" heart-print sweatshirt, while Irving is wearing what looks to be one of those sweatshirts with the built-in collar that old ladies wear. This doesn't surprise me one bit.

Cathy convinces Irving to close his eyes and imagine their future. I could save them some time by just switching the TV channel to any of TLC's shows about obese, pet-hoarding loners, but that would involve me living in Cathy's world, and that's not a suicide mission I'm ready to take on. While their eyes are closed, the dogs binge-eat all their food, then collapse under the weight of Cathy and Irving's calorie-laden Wal-Mart TV dinners. This is where I would probably call Animal Control to report blatant pet abuse and neglect, but really - the merciful thing would be to let the dogs die. What's worse: the shelter, or Cathy and Irving? Exactly - double-edged sword.

Cathy and Irving continue the pathetic charade of imagining them driving down the road to their future. Cathy complains her jeans are too tight in her illusion and asks Irving to turn the car around so she can put on some sweatpants. Even in her dreams, Cathy is a sexless, disgusting slob. Irving's final thought of " We might not see our future today, but I see my future..." gave me the heebiest of jeebies because I imagined Cathy stuffing her gunt into a pair of threadbare elasticized-ankle sweatpants while Irving crysturbates in the shower for the 5th time that day.

Cathy starts imagining again and Irving starts into his whiny baby-man behaviour. I need my gwasses. I need my bwanket. I need my insuwin. Cathy joins in and says she needs her "hoodie" which surprises me, because it looks like Cathy Guisewite learned about something else that has gained popularity in the last 10 years. "Hoodies! All the kids are wearing hoodies! Time to Google what hoodies are...."
Then at the end we see their bags are packed and they appear to be going on some kind of trip. I will be crossing my fingers that it involves a Thelma and Louise-themed road trip complete with driving off a cliff. In all likelihood, they're probably going back to some place that let's Irving wear his t-shirt in the swimming pool.

Cathy and Irving are still blathering on about their trip. Sadly it didn't end with some kind of canine-helmed double-homicide, but you can't win them all. Cathy's talking about it being next spring and their at her parent's house. Ruh roh, I know where this is going. You usually find out you're pregnant when you're about 2-3 months in, right? Ew ew ew ew ew ew....
On the plus side, the dogs urinating and defecating all over Cathy's parents yard makes me smile, because I like to imagine Cathy's Dad standing at the window shaking his head in frustration, knowing full well he will be the person who will pick up all those dog turds.

Welp, it looks like Cathy Guisewite decided to pander to all the stay-at-home cat ladies and single Carols out there by giving Cathy and Irving a child. Barf. Check back on Monday for the very last Cathy comic EVER. It posts on Sunday October 3rd, and I plan on going through it with a fine-toothed AACK! Praise Jesus, this day couldn't come soon enough! For the first time in my life, I will know a world without Cathy. Oooh, that's spooky, isn't it? Wanna know something else? Cathy has been around longer than the Presidency of George Bush Sr and George W Bush, KFC's Extra Tasty Crispy chicken, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and Seinfeld COMBINED. Doesn't that make you just wanna barf? Anyways, see you on Monday.


Cathy Friday

It's that time again! Time for us to count down the days till Cathy ceases to be birdcage liner and stops appearing in Funny Pages nationwide. Hoo. Ray. October 3rd can't come soon enough for all of us, I'm sure; but in the meantime, let's enjoy the death-knell of Cathy through another weekly strip:

Click to make big.

Okay, so remember how I had my money on Cathy Guisewite ending her strip with the titular character becoming pregnant with....I dunno, what do sows become pregnant with? Piglets? It's piglets, isn't it. Anyways, so everyone and their senile cats had a feeling that Cathy would end the strip with a "I'm having a baby! Now my life is complete!" story line; hell, it's stupid and cliched, but no one said the Cathy fans were a sophisticated bunch and it's what the fans want. However, this is the second strip that begins with Cathy saying goodbye to a friend. Forget pregnancy, is Cathy Guisewite killing off Cathy?!?!?!? OMG PLEASE I HOPE SO!!!! Imagine Guisewite's entire strip has been some sort of crazy Andy Kaufman-like hoax and now she's finally lifting the veil as if to say "sike! I hate Cathy as much as all of you!" But really - that's giving Guisewite far too much credit; if she was going to kill off Cathy, she'd just shamelessly rip-off Lynn Johnson's For Better Or For Worse and give Cathy cancer. In all likelihood, Cathy won't get cancer; this is Cathy - notorious for lazy writing and even lazier plot development. Let's not read too much into Cathy saying goodbye to a friend at a coffee shop (Excuse me: she's at Latte, not to be confused with last week's Cafe. Oh Cathy Guisewite - does your fucking laziness know no bounds?)

Moving on. So Cathy says "I loved seeing you Andrea. I really want to stay in touch with your family." Oh my god, could this set up be more contrived? Who actually says "I want to keep in touch with your family". Answer: no one. Also, what the hell happened with Cathy that she all of a sudden feels the need to reconnect with long-lost friends? Every damn strip lately has followed the exact same formula

Sheesh, that's bleak. So Cathy's telling her friend that she wants to keep in touch with her family (an empty gesture, I'm sure) and then her friend goes bonkers bipolar and starts whipping everything out of her purse. Um, what? Here's what I got out of that cartoon cloud of excitement:

- There are 4 people in this family and two of them are named Gus and Zenith. Since she mentioned the name Luke first, I will go ahead and assume that's her husband. By my powers of deduction, I can confirm that this woman named her children Gus and Zenith. In case you can't tell, I'm rolling my eyes like crazy right now.

- Cathy Guisewite doesn't know the difference between Twitter and a Twitter Account. Why would the mom give out her son's Twitter account? She's like "here you go Cathy, Gus's Twitter account. Username is gus6969 and the password is BLOWJOBS. In case it asks you the security question, the answer is SCARFACE in all capital letters."

- She gives out "Luke's office URL". WHO THE HELL SAYS URL ANYMORE?!?! Also, I hate how laboured this joke is because if Cathy really was her friend, surely she'd know where Andrea and Luke work. If this had any semblance of reality, it would go more like this:

"Here's my cell, Luke's cell, Zenith and Gus's cell...although I have no idea why you'd need that. If you want Zenith's Facebook, just go to my friends and you'll find her. I'm 55 so I have like 20 friends, she's not hard to find. Gus's Twitter, Zenith's Twitter, Zenith's pregnancy blog, the Gammacorp Inc. website and InsuraGrasp's website, and our Flickr. I think that's it. Oh wait, here's my therapist's cell - you might want to call her regarding my delusional, narcissistic behavior. It's pretty out of control."

Cathy then ends with a smarmy, smug jab about the cat being totally left out of the loop, and Andrea shoots back that the cat has his own live feed. Cathy Guisewite meant for this to be a joke about this woman having tabs on everything in her life, but really - the cat has it's own live feed? Can we have that web address please? Everyone loves watching live feeds of animals, amirite?

Funny: 0/5 - Jokes about people being tech-obsessed were funny about 3 years ago. I'm surprised Cathy hasn't tackled iPods yet (although Cathy Guisewite would probably call them iJams or MyPods or something equally as lame.)

Depressing: 0/5 - This is more irritating that depressing. Although maybe I should bump this up to a 1/5 based on the fact that Cathy's friends are all such self-centered assholes. Like, why the hell does she want to keep in touch with these people so badly? They're horrible people!

Does this warrant a spot in the newspaper? Nope. The same people who read Cathy are the people you know with a blog, a Twitter, a Flickr, and post album after album of themselves on Facebook. Essentially, Cathy just blew off her entire fanbase. Good one, Guisewite.


My dentist doesn't fuck around

You know how you're supposed to go to the dentist every 6 months? Well, what they don't tell you is that rule only applies to rich people with amazing Dental Plans. For 3 years I had the World's Shittiest Dental Plan; I'm pretty sure they covered about 10% of your costs and punished you if you did anything more than ask the dentist for a free toothbrush. So, being the extremely broke person that I am, I never went. For 3 years. No big deal, right?


Remember when I said this?

"She told me I better straighten up and fly right. Which I will. Promise."

Yeah, so go ahead and ask me how long it was before I was eating Creme Eggs for breakfast and brushing my teeth with cupcakes. Answer? Not very long. Pretty much right away I stopped flossing; not my fault, everyone hates flossing, amirite? Then the teeth brushing started dwindling from 3 times a day, to just in the morning and at night, then it was just in the morning. Before I knew it I was relying more and more on gum and prayer (and around November 2009, I completely gave up on both). Despite my complete emancipation from the Dentist, my teeth felt fine. They were strong (I could bite apples and carrots with ease), they were healthy (naturally white and pearly), and my breath didn't stink (I rarely had "morning breath"). I was on top of the world, dental-wise. I started to feel very cocky, as if I had somehow beaten the system. Every time someone at work would talk about a dental appointment or saw people walking into the neighborhood Dental offices, I would think smugly to myself "Fools! All of them, fools. Have fun wasting your money on petty procedures and little samples of floss that you'll never use. I laugh at you, as I sit on my couch without a stranger's fingers prodding into my mouth."

That smug stupidity came to an abrupt end this weekend. You see, my current health plan at work is amazing: almost everything is 100% covered, all the time. You want a massage? Go nuts. Need braces? Have at it. Can't afford Viagra? Now you can! Add to that a really nice, new dental office right across the street from my house, so there was really nothing preventing me from having my teeth checked. Sure, it might suck, but I like to read magazines and get a new toothbrush, and I had nothing else better to do on Saturday morning, so I booked an appointment for some x-rays and a cleaning.

Everything was pretty normal: x-rays were taken (digitally too, so it was neat to see my teeth on the screen right in front of me), the Dentist cleaned my teeth with a high-pressure jet of cool water while California Gurls played over the sound system. Hell, even polishing wasn't terrible; they used a nice mint paste and I got to pick mint fluoride (um, have you ever been to the dentist where their only flavours were the shittiest, white trashest Ice Cream Shoppe flavours, like Orange Bubblegum Pudding Creamsicle or Mango Chocolate Mint Cupcake Chip? BARF!!!! It always tasted like sweet barf mixed with the inside of a fake leg. So gross. I was very pleased with my option of mint or mint).

Then she sits down with me and puts on her stern Dentist face....and tells me I have 2 cavities. Ummmmm, what? But my teeth didn't even hurt!!! What the hell?!?! One was just a baby, and we caught it early - apparently it's the equivalent of a tiny little oopsie in my tooth. I can deal with that. It's like a broken nail or a stubbed toe. But the other one? Apparently it went Appalachia a long-ass time ago. While it looked okay on the outside, it was straight-up black on the inside. My only regret is that I didn't have a camera at the time, because I would have LOVED to have taken pictures of the process! Instead, I'll just describe it for you:

Step 1: She freezes my mouth up so much. I have only ever had freezing once, and it was on my back, so it wasn't much. Also it was more than 6 years ago, so I barely remember what freezing feels like. Anyways, my mouth was frozen and puffy and my lips looked like The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Step 2: She gets out the drill, which really wasn't that bad, and starts drilling into my tooth. Oh, now might be a good time to mention its one of my molars at the back. So she gets to drilling and it's super easy and the drill is just getting it done. Then she's like "Do you want to see the hole?" Um, hells yes. It was like a tiny little pinkish-brownish hole in my molar. It looked soft, and it reminded me of all the sweet sweet candy I ate in order to make the little guy.

Step 3: DIGGING. Lawdamarcy, the digging. She gets this little scooper out and begins spooning out all the cavity gunk. This feels weird cause she's getting right in there, right, and it's taking a while. Also I don't feel pain but I feel pressure, and it's fucking with my head. It's like "if I wasn't froze up from the toes up, what the hell would this feel like?!?!" and then I start thinking "shit, what if she got the wrong one? What if she made a mistake and then she'll need to carve out two teeth instead?! What if the tooth comes out and I swallow it?" It was scary. I guess she saw I was freaking out, so she let me see the tooth all dug out. BIG MISTAKE. It gives me the willies just thinking about it. It was like a shell of a tooth; most of it was gone. Or maybe that was my active, paranoid imagination (more on that later).

Step 4: She starts putting tons of filler into my tooth. My mom said I might be able to feel her packing it in, but I was so done from the freezing, that I felt nothing. The threw a UV light on that shit, and bingo-bango, new tooth town!

Jerry's Final Thought
: My dentist tells me that we need to take good care to monitor Franketooth because there are two possible outcomes:
BEST CASE SCENARIO - Frankentooth feels a little sore for a few days, then he's good as new.
WORST CASE SCENARIO - Frankentooth starts being hurty and a pain in my ass and needs to be taken care of, Root Canal Style. This is the one I am NOT looking forward to.

So I'm freaking out. Imagine if I had waited to go to the dentist? They would have ripped the tooth out and I would be nicknamed Gummy Jolene. Uncool. So here's the moral of the story:

Take care of your teeth, because if you don't, they'll leave you. But they won't just leave quietly while you're at work; they'll burn down your house, Waiting to Exhale-style. So seriously...don't be shitty to your mouth. Always brush. Always floss. And always always always go to your dentist when you can. They catch the stuff you can't. Oh, and also go to your doctor. They're just as important. And make sure to wear condoms, kids. Just be safe, k? Life's too short to spend all your time in a dentist's chair with a UV light all up in your business.

Love you,

- The Mayor


Cathy Friday

Hey everyone! I apologize for not writing a post between this week's Cathy and last week's Cathy. With so many Cathy posts and so few poo/fart/candy/America posts, one thing is for damn sure: in the eyes of Google, The Skip-raid can officially be classified as a Cathy fan site. Yeah, I know - fire up the screen printer, we need to crank out 2000 Cathy fan t-shirts for cafepress.com, or else the terrorists have truly won. Moving on. Let's talk about this week's Cathy!

Click to make big.

Okay. Panel one has Cathy meeting her friend Charlene at a nondescript cafe. Judging by the height of that cafe wall, it looks like the owner has converted an old High School gymnasium into a quaint cafe. This in itself sounds like a terrible idea, but paired with the notion that people the likes of Cathy (rude, demanding, impossible to please) and her dumpy friend Charlene are customers, I have a feeling that sign on the door reads "CAFE CAFE GOING OUT OF BUSINESS. THANKS FOR 2 GREAT MONTHS." But more than that, are you looking at how dumpy Cathy's friend Charlene is?!?! Holy crap, this woman makes Cathy look like Angelina Jolie.

Carried over from panel 1, Cathy's gross friend starts bragging about how Cathy really missed the boat because she has yet to meet her VSS (very special son). Ugh, this woman, am I right? Cathy compliments her on how sweet her baby girl is and Charlene launches into "what, this old thing? You should meet my son! He'll rock your world 8 days till Sunday then come back and slap the taste out of your mouth!" Jesus Christ, for once I'm with Cathy on this one; Cathy Guisewite doesn't draw it, but I can only imagine she wished she could have drawn a little thought bubble over Cathy's head that reads "I didn't ask, bitch". Oh well, Cathy, you should know better; it looks like Charlene doesn't have much to talk about, so give her a good 10 minutes and yet her feel good about herself for once, k? Not everyone needs to hear about YOUR bikini problems or YOUR mommy-issues.

So Cathy drives home in an esoterically-old burgundy Cadillac or something. Seriously, Guisewite couldn't Google what a SmartCar looked like? Or like...anything made post-1998? Whatever, she gets home and she's greeted by her two dogs who, rather than sit, jump on her and show her how much they missed her. Wow, dogs truly are the animal that loves unconditionally, eh? But that's cool - even Cathy deserves love from her poochies. Plus, I bet they love her because they're no way she'd ever be so desperate as to eat their food (...or is she?)

Anyways, that's it. I guess we're supposed to make up the joke ourselves? This is a Choose Your Own Adventure now, yes? Oh brother.

Funny: 3/5 - I guess it's funny to laugh at the idea of Cathy calling up her dumpy, baby-maker friend Charlene being all nice like "you know what? I bet Charlene would love to go out for lunch and catch up. Her life is probably all Baby Einstein-this and Yo Gabba Gabba-that. I bet she'd like to talk about grown-up stuff, maybe even gossip about the old gang" and then it's 2.5 hours spent talking about baby dumps and sleeping routines. HA HA HA HA Cathy...you should know better.

Depressing: 5/5 - See above. The worst part is, no matter how cool the parents, they still all turn into this poo-obsessed sleepless parental zombie.

Does this warrant a spot in the newspaper? Yes, because you'd have to be an idiot not to realize that this strip is thick with foreshadowing. CATHY'S GOING TO HAVE A BABY!!!1!!

I know. Shudder.


Cathy Friday

Welcome back to Cathy Friday! This week's Cathy gives us a sneak peek into the lives of Cathy's in-laws, and just as you've imagined, they're as neurotic and hopeless as Cathy and Irving are.

Click to make big.

Okay, so in panel one we are introduced to Irving's parents, Curly from The Three Stooges and a fatter version of this old lady. Thankfully, Cathy Guisewite knows her readers are criminally stupid so she repeats the reason why Irving's parents are living with them. The mortgage crisis! Okay, here's my question: Cathy and Irving are like, what, 40? So let's safely assume their parents are at least 65. You mean to tell me that they never once thought about putting away for a rainy day aka not blowing all your money and making sure your house is paid off? Come the hell on. Also why are they wearing formal clothing while Cathy and Irving are dressed in tracksuits? Maybe Irving's parents are...a little...um....this?

It makes sense, right? Okay, whatever, so Mama Irving (I don't care to Google her name, but I bet it's something like Eunice or Heloise) is freaking the fuck out on her son because she wants to stress that her and her husband did not want to move in and burden Cathy and Irving. Trust lady, unless you're eating her Snak Paks of Chips Ahoy, Cathy doesn't know you exist. She's like a Predator; all she sees is the red-orange outline of objects that contain high fructose corn syrup and/or trans fats.

In the second panel, she's still bugging out on Irving and it looks like she's either choking him or making him nuzzle into her ample bosom, both of which are effing weird. She's really worried that she has moved in and made Irving instantly regret letting them stay because she's a nagging, critical, beeswax-making machine. Irving is like "No Mom, knock it off, you've been great". Hell, we even get a third whole panel of this just in case we thought Irving was lying or insincere (truth: we don't care that much). He's finally convinced her that, in their time of need, Irving and Cathy were happy to open their home to such grateful house guests and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Aw, it's actually kind of touching, really.

Get ready to throw all that touching out the window, because panel four introduces us to the other side of Irving's mother; the scheming, conniving, shithead. Yep! She only moved in with Cathy and Irving to mooch off them, disrupt their lives, spread gossip, nag the hell out of them, and generally make their lives miserable. Wow. Lady, you are a piece of work, you know that? I think what's even worse than this is the realization that there is, in fact, a character in the Cathyverse that I hate more than Cathy.

Funny: 0/5 - There are two main themes in this strip: the sadness that follows being evicted from one's home after it is foreclosed upon, and the sheer hatred Cathy's in-laws have for her and her husband. Neither is funny.

Depressing: 5/5 - See above.

Does this warrant a spot in the newspaper? Let's put it this way: I'd rather read You Can with Beakman and Jax.


Candy and Style and Caterpillars

Hey guys

So, welcome to Fall I guess. This weekend marked the end of summer and I could not be happier (feel free to send all your side-eye to skipraid@gmail.com). Look, it's not popular to dislike summer, but here's the long and short of it:

- In Toronto, our summer is only 2 months long, but it's hot as fucking Vegas.
- I don't have air conditioning because my apartment building is an old, 100-year-old walk-up and seriously, try walking up and down stairs with no a/c for 2 months.
- Forget about makeup; it's not an exaggeration when someone says their makeup is melting off their face. When it gets hot and humid, your makeup melts. Off. Your. Face.
- Walking around your apartment in underwear is fun the first 4 or 5 times. After that, there's not much separating you from a meth-cooking Walter White.
- If I get any more that 2 people in my apartment in the summer, the thing turns into some kind of weird Native sweat lodge/spirit journey where everyone is drenched in sweat and hallucinating to So You Think You Can Dance Canada. NO ONE WINS.

So yeah, I am really happy it's Fall. I do cold weather much better because I am good at rocking the hell out of a pair of threadbare Roots sweatpants and making hot tea.
NEVER GETS OLD (Loose Seal!)

Anyways, I wanted to write something since I have found I am slacking BIG TIME. Remember when I used to write damn near every day and had a really high readership? If I had to guess, I'd bet I clock in at 4 readers a week with one new post every 1.5 weeks. THOSE ARE NOT GOOD ODDS. So here we go, my thoughts of the week:

1. Candy
You know I live for candy. I will try anything and eat till I barf. So this blog has won my heart so bad. It's called Candy Blog (really? We couldn't think of anything more than just Candy Blog? Whatever). It's such an amazing resource for candy reviews; I don't care much for gummies/tart crunchy candies, but I love her reviews of creams/caramels and popular chocolates (like when Snickers releases a new bar with like, I dunno...honey roasted peanuts. Actually, that was a thing, wasn't it? Delicious!) She also uses an M&M to show scale - brilliant! Anyways, check it out. It's an amazing time-killer.

2. Caterpillars
I heard about raising monarch caterpillars from The Art Of Doing Stuff (a pretty decent time-killer blog) and thought it could be a cool idea. What I didn't realize is that I would get super attached to this thing and raise it like it's a child. I brought him into work and people absolutely love him/tolerate him, and we're all looking forward to the day when his back splits open and the cocoon emerges (WEIRD!) Here he is:

He's sleeping. NICE! That's my boy! Good and lazy. All he does is eat, shit, and sleep, and sometimes he wiggles and entertains us. Yesterday he fell into his bowl of water and almost drowned; trust, it was tense. I was almost sure we were going to have to flush him. I put his weak, lifeless body on a leaf so people could look at him one last time before he made his way into the afterlife (see you at the Crossroads, buddy). After about an hour he came back and started eating and shitting once again. Hooray! If you don't spend your days eating everything in sight and crapping where you feel like it, the terrorists win.

3. Style
My friends know that the best way to describe my style is Used Dashiki Chic wherein most things I wear are billowy, muumuu-like in nature, and used to the point they smell of mothballs and other people's hair. Also, anything I can wear tights under is common, as I don't often wear pants. That's not to say I don't own pants; I own pants, I just don't like wearing them. So with the advent of Fall and, natch, Fall fashion, I am really at a loss. I want to buy new clothes, new work appropriate clothes, pretty clothes, but I have no idea what to buy. The only store I really shop in is Value Village (Savers for the Americans) and sometimes I pop into H&M to see if I can't find some over-sized, billowy dresses on sale. Now, I should stress that my body doesn't need a tent; sure, my ass be fat, but not to the point that I should call up TLC and ask if they need a 30-minute show to sandwich between ladies with 20 babies and cakes that look like shoes. What I'm getting at is that I don't need to be afraid to buy things that aren't bedsheets and/or smell like vintage dead bodies. I think I'm gonna go with looking like a beatnik for a while.

At least till I figure shit out. Plus, I own lots of black clothing. Plus plus plus EVERYONE and their mom is doing that neo-Elaine Benes thing and I am OVER IT.

4. Pink Eye
How do you tell if you have pink eye? My sister says it starts with the drip then gets itchy, but mine started with the itchy and finished with a strong drip. Is this allergies, or should I get my ass to the clinic (don't answer that).

5. Hair Did
Tomorrow I'm getting my hair did for the first time in like, a year. I have no idea what I'm doing. Right now my hair is a good 3 inches of mousy Michelle Duggar-brown roots with orange scraggle hair down to my mid-back. It's gross, trust. So I have no idea what I want, but I'll tell you what I'd be happy with:

I kinda like this and I think I could pull it off. My hair is super straight, so it wouldn't be too much work, but I don't have coke-face, so let's see if we can't find a better example.

Here we go. A little short, but you get the idea. Also a bit of a coke face. What is it with this hair cut? I don't want to look like I do mountains of blow and suntan all day (...or do I? No, no I don't). So we'll see. I usually know what I sort of want, but then the person doing my hair is able to convince me of some pretty stupid stuff; it's how I ended up with an undercut one year. So who knows? On Friday I may end up writing about how my hair looks like Lisa Marie from Mars Attacks!

Speaking of Lisa Marie, how cute is this picture of her and Tim Burton. DREAM COUPLE!!!


Cathy Friday (well, Thursday)

Hi! Welcome back to Cathy Fridays, where I take down everyone's favourite lovable loser, Cathy! It's but a mere month away before Cathy retires to the old, broken filing cabinet in Office Heaven, so I'm truly enjoying the final Cathys. Now, imagine for a second that you're a successful Funny Pages comic artist. Okay, now pretend you're not Charles Schulz (zing!) Anyways, pretend you wrote a successful, albeit tremendously obnoxious and unfunny, comic strip that you now plan to retire. You have legions of fans and dozens of awards. Your creation is a staple of popular culture and has been lampooned for decades. How do you think you'd end such a series? In all likelihood, you'd tie up all loose ends, complete all story arcs with sensitivity to the reader/fan and to bring closure to the daily strip. Maybe even throw in some poignant strips to tug at even the most jaded of reader's heart strings.

Now pretend you're Cathy Guisewite, and you've decided to just shit on everything and end the cannon of Cathy with shit like this:

Click to make big.

Sweet jesus, is this really how Cathy wants to be remembered? Talk about lighting the house on fire and pissing on the ashes. Cathy only has a month left and Guisewite is just really not giving a shit; I'm predicting the next 20 or so strips will just be Cathy waxing poetic on the thread count of her bed sheets, her thoughts on the purchase of a new microwave, and "where the hell did the shampoo go? No seriously, did i not just buy this bottle like, last week?"

Okay, let's talk about this. In the first (and most confusing) block, Cathy wants chooses to eat a 100 calorie pack of cookies. She's hungry, doesn't want to something as filling as a burrito or Thanksgiving dinner, okay - I get it. But then the thought bubble has her thinking: "It shouldn't be wrong, but it seems wrong." Holy fuck, have you ever known someone with a more messed-up relationship with food? I know anorexics that would be sitting there going "100 calorie pack of Chips Ahoy? Sure, why not". Not Cathy! Cathy needs to labour over every single detail of her life, including food. I'm starting to wonder if Cathy was abused as a child, because she is showing some serious body image anxieties. Or maybe she's just a fucking lunatic (yep, that's it). Also fun to note: are you looking at that huge stack of work in her To Do pile? Jesus, Cathy, quit hemming and hawing over a pack of cookies and get to work! You just came back from a completely unnecessary vacation; you're going to get your ass fired. Okay, second panel: Cathy eats another pack of cookies and laments that it shouldn't be wrong, but feels totally wrong. Again, we've all been there. Have you ever tried to do that stupid 100 calorie snack thing? It's such a gimmick; no one really sticks to 1 pack. You don't feel so bad, because it's only 100 calories, so you usually eat two. No big deal. About 1 hour later you eat the remaining 6 packs in the box, throw the box in the recycling, vow to never buy them again and that's that. We all know this. So why is Cathy acting like Robert Langdon discovering all that Jesus-had-a-kid stuff in The DaVinci Code (I HAD TO GOOGLE THAT TO KNOW IT). Moving on. Third frame, Cathy eats 3 more packs of cookies, bringing her calorie count up to 500. Whoah, 500 calories just from a mid-afternoon snack? No wonder this broad was single for so long; I'm surprised she didn't make up 101 excuses why she needed to work (fat people LOVE working from home. It lets them be one with their sweatpants). Cathy now feels regret and remorse for her choices, knowing that 100 calorie packs are wrong. Wait, what? And in the fourth frame, Cathy looks stoned as hell as she sits at her desk thinking to herself: "Even more than sweets, we crave clarity". Cathy....or Confucius?

So...I still don't get it.

Funny: 0/5 - Well, I dunno - I guess it's funny to imagine Cathy's coworkers emailing back and forth like:

From: csmith@techco.com
To: dshane@techco.com, mtassman@techco.com, slapierre@techco.com, grich@techco.com
Subject: Cathy's binging again!!!
Message: Seriously guys, Cathy is FREAKING OUT over those cookies!!! I think she's going to eat them all. So much for portion control, you fucking fatass!!!

From: slapierre@techco.com
To: jregis@techco.com, vbellanger@techco.com
Subject: TLC's newest 1/2 hour freakshow
Message: Hey guys, just wondering if we should stock up on 100 cal. packs of cookies for Cathy's birthday. Someone's going to need to get a Costco membership and a flat-bed truck. I'll see if the Tech-Co Amex is clear for a $5000 purchase of cookies.

Depressing: 5/5 - Judging from that huge stack of unfinished work, Cathy is a terrible employee. In these tough economic times, she should be very careful not to slack, as she'll be one of the first ones gone. No job means no more cookies, Cathy.

Does this warrant a spot in the newspaper? Maybe as an editorial cartoon for the Mental Health section. Actually no...my favourite illustration of mental health is this: