A Tremendous Loss To The Country

From 6/10/08

Clearly, this is why the nation is entering a recession. Because we’ve lost the economic output of Rufus, who’s halted whatever it is he does to sit by the phone.

Even better: We get to watch!

Waiting for Meowdot

From 6/9/08:

Before my brief sabbatical, Rufus had concocted a crazy scheme: Win Chef Meowrice’s “Feed Your Pussy” contest to get to appear in a commercial. I guess he really didn’t concoct this scheme, it’s sort of just following the rules of the contest, but he is at least obsessing over it, so let’s give him credit.

Anyhow, it’s just a matter of time before he wins the contest, and I’m not just saying that because I’ve read ahead in the strip. He’s sent 500 labels, a number so large (if I may borrow from Douglas Adams), it conveys the idea of infinity much better than infinity itself. He literally, or at least figuratively, has sent every single label in the universe. And yet, they still all fit on a single 8 1/2-by-11 sheet of paper. Magical!

This joyous occasion, however, shall lead to a long period of depressive ennui. Yes, the joy of imminent cat food contest victory as a dark side: You have to sit around waiting to actually win the contest. Poor Kitty has either already been to the taxidermist to escape this torment, or it’s planning to get there at the first available opportunity.

Back and Bad…

I’m back.

Bad blogger! Bad blogger! Bad blogger!

Actually, the true* reason for my absence isn’t so simple. See, first I was abducted by Austrian terrorists who snatched me as I got off the Red Line train at Belmont. They blindfolded me, tied me up, threw me into the back of a van, and drove for six days non-stop. By this time, I was getting hoppin’ mad, so I cut through my ropes using the six days’ worth of fingernail growth I’d accrued, then used the rope to garotte one of my captors unconscious, my extremely long fingernails to scratch out the eyeballs of the second, and my incredible martial arts skills to wipe out the third. Then I kicked open the door and began running. After about three miles I realized that I could safely remove my blindfold, and I found myself in a harsh, desolate landscape that I immediately recognized as the Greek isle of Crete. I hailed a taxi, but the driver was obviously sent by the Austrians to kill me, so I turned on my charms and seduced her in the middle of the street, after which she drove into the Mediterranean, switched on “submarine” mode, and brought me back to Chicago through a secret underwater tunnel that connects the Mediterranean to Lake Michigan. Then she dumped me for a midget roller derby star, but that’s okay, because frankly, she made a good choice.

Let’s focus on the important thing, though: I’m back. And I’ll be working my way through the last month or so.

* Truth not guaranteed.

Petroleum ‘Pothetical #8

Before the already-tardy Petroleum ‘Pothetical for this week, a much-overdue plug: I received several weeks ago an e-mail from one Bryce Baker announcing his new blog, the Daily Comics Review. It’s a Comics Curmudgeon-like site that I announce in the spirit of brotherhood and fraternity and all that. (Plus, everyone loves it when their Technorati Authority goes up. Mine just hit 10 and I’m on cloud 9. Which would have been more appropriate one link ago, but that’s just the way life is sometimes.)

Anyhow, onto last week’s winner, and I think it’s no surprise. Obviously, the winner is “Brent’s got it in one!” by Igopogo.

Okay, not really, since it didn’t actually answer the question. I just figured that Igopogo should get credit for spontaneously naming another the winner.

The actual winner will be “Rufus and Kitty will win. They’ll win by buying wagons full of the cat food - which of course Kitty won’t eat because she’s got good taste and it don’t taste good. Or they’ll win because they live in a junk yard and people in Gasoline Alley don’t do even the most basic recycling things like taking the labels off their cans.” Provided obviously, by the aforementioned Brent. Congratulations, Brent!

This week’s question: “How is Rufus going to get his labels to Chef Meowrice?” As you may remember, he’s under the gun for getting the labels there by the deadline of tomorrow. So what trick has he got up his sleeve? Answer in comments, and remember that I already suggested “pneumatic tube,” so if you use it, you will lose points for your lack of creativity.

It’s You, Chef Meowrice, It’s You

So much is wrong here. (Not that that couldn’t be said about most episodes of Gasoline Alley.)

* After a week of introducing cat versions of country singers, Chef Meowrice is suddenly concerned about grammar? Particularly in a situation where his grammar is actually correct.

* Speaking of Chef Meowrice, he measures the passage of dates with an old-timey pocket watch. Which is obviously wrong, because who ever heard of a cat using a watch?

* Perhaps unwisely, Rufus has decided to take Kitty off the can-generating duty for which he seems to be so well suited and put him (her?) on envelope-licking duty, which is going to give poor kitty some monster papercuts. Plus, it’s a job that could be done by, you know, a sponge.

* Rufus is really cutting things pretty fine on the timing. The U.S. Postal Service doesn’t generally get things to their destination overnight, and I can’t really see Rufus springing for UPS or nothing. (Not that he doesn’t care enough, but where is he going to get the funds?) Of course, being Gasoline Alley, he probably is going to just use the pneumatic tube that just happens to lead from the dump to the TV station, or something equally absurd.

Those Aren’t Real Cans

There’s an important lesson here. When Rufus is having an existential quandary that happens to be really stupid and annoying, just throw shit at him. (I’m going to take that as justification to try “throwing shit at people” as a solution for other interpersonal problems as well.)

I’m surprised (but pleased) that Rufus hasn’t started a debate with Joel about whether or not the cans are real. My hope is that they hit him, several times, and he decided to believe that they were real because they had actually affected him. (much like Judge Judy and a cartoon cat.)

I’m perversely delighted by the fact that Rufus doesn’t care that people litter, but he is mad that they’re not littering the cat food cans he needs. Of course, to litter those cat food cans, people would have to be feeding their cats while driving. Is that a typical behavior? I can’t imagine it is.

Finally, it’s a good thing that the contest requires cans of cat food rather than jugs of milk. It would change the meaning of the dialog significantly. (Although it probably would improve it, or at least make it funnier, so I guess it’s not a “good” thing. Oh well.)

Please Say You Have an Exit Strategy!

Okay, Scancarelli, I can kind of see how you might come up with the idea of having Rufus completely oblivious to the fact that a talking, baking cat isn’t really real. In fact, as a one-off gag, it even works.

But there’s a limit to how long this delusion can run and still be funny. And that limit is “once”.

Anyhow, we’ve now seen this delusion twice. I had to go back and look that up, seriously, because it’s seemed like a lot more. That’s how quickly this bit has turned.

Anyhow, let’s hope that Scancarelli has where this is all headed in mind, and gets there soon. Stupid can be funny, but when it misses, it misses big, and this sure looks like a miss in the making.

Rufus Just Got Sad

Wow! Rufus went from amusingly stupid to sad stupid really quickly.

It’s bad enough that he gives the wrong name for “Judge Judy,” because “Judge Judy” is such an incredibly difficult name to grasp. (It’s not like alliteration helps you remember stuff or anything. Plus, it’s nine whole letters — that’s longer than a phone number, unless you have an area code.) But even worse: He watches Judge Judy every day.

How sad is that!

Delusion, Thy Name Is Rufus

So, Rufus can’t tell the difference between a person and a cartoon. It makes me wonder what other delusions he’s suffering under. Perhaps he thinks Kitty is an actual talking cat. In fact, that seems almost undoubtedly true. He probably thinks the tree is a friendly flying elephant, and Joel’s bag is David Wells dressed in a frilly pink negligee and army boots

In any event, here’s hoping that Rufus does win the contest, so that he gets to bee in the commercial and discover that the focus of his sad little dreams is in fact a figment of his imagination drawn by horribly underpaid animators in destitute foreign factories. Because really, that’s comedy in a nutshell.

Better than the Deposit

Yep. Rufus is collecting cans. Exciting! Not for the nickels, just in hopes that those cans will somehow deliver him from his miserable existence by makin’ him famous. (At least to the owners of www.catfoodcommercials.com. Which somehow doesn’t seem to be owned, so if you want to get Teeka visiting your web site, take that hot tip!)

It’s wonderful that the people of Gasoline Alley have kindly separated their garbage so that all of the cat food cans are in the same place (and under a conveniently picturesque tree).

Also wonderful? The vortex in space and time between the first two panels, where Rufus can throw his cans away from Joel and yet they’ll whip around and hit him in the back of the head.