What is it with the Sunday comics these days!? I know you know - everyone knows - that they suck really badly. So I’m not going to waist anyone’s time complaining about that all over again. That is, I’m not going to complain about it, I’ve just got a few things to say about it.

First of all, are the writers really so clueless that they don’t know how bad their own work is? How do they sleep at night? How do they have any self-respect? I’m sure of one thing, they don’t go to many parties. They’d spend the whole time in abject shame for even being seen.

So you have to conclude that there’s some sort of Orwellian double-think going on. They really do think that their work has value. They really believe that they put a small bit of joy into the day of every American.

But the problem isn’t the writers. Well the problem is the writers but the other problem is that the thing that should be fixing the problem doesn’t seem to be working either. What I mean is, where the hell is the free market when you need it? Somebody’s got to be making money somewhere in the comic strip industry and you’d think he’d be making more if the comics didn’t suck.

Of course there have been a few comics over the years that have shined like gems. Calvin and Hobbes, Bloom County, Outland, The Far Side, Doonesberry, and to a much lesser extent, Dilbert. But they didn’t having anything to do with quality control by United Feature Syndicate. The butt kicking greatness of those strips was due only to the self-discipline of their creators. In fact it’s the talented comic strip writers that seem to have a hard time of it. Bill Watterson was constantly complaining about the industry. It would seem that the Syndicate didn’t care for him because he was actually worried about the quality of his product. And the reason good comics end while the rest go on is that good writers know when they are out of ideas and they move on to something new. Bad writers simply die and let their son take over.

And the worst part is, Watterson didn’t allow any licensing. So, all we have to help us remember is the occasional sight of Calvin, stuck to the rear window of a pickup, taking a piss.