11-2-07: This cartoon owes so much to the Flintstones that it's not funny. I mean that literally, it's not funny, which is sort of funny if you think about it.

I mean, just imagine Fred Flintstone slyly logging in to the Bedrock version of a prehistoric online dating service. Would it look anything like the dolorous scene above with its dank cave walls and confusing iconography? Of course not. It would have rabbits or minks or goats or some other critter commonly associated with common associations racing back and forth delivering racy billet-doux (billy goat billet-doux?) between Fred and his paleolithic paramour.

Not only has old Hicky-pants stopped writing new jokes, his new jokes are jokes. Which means they're not jokes, so maybe that's the joke.

11-3-07: The phrase "assume the position" can mean a lot of things, but generally it means that the one for whom the phrase is intended is in for hard times ahead.

Old Hicky-pants obviously wanted to write a joke using the phrase "assume the position" but quickly found out it wouldn't work logically within the structure of the joke. So he just replaced "the" with "a" and then forgot to reassess what a moronic load of corn-encrusted drivel he just squeezed out.

This gag is, therefore, akin to writing a joke about a duck and leaving out the duck.

Sloth Alert: If it waddles like a re-used Quigman and it smells like a re-used Quigman then, by golly, it IS a re-used Quigman, all the way from 1-7-03.

11-5-07: This is not your typical Quigmans joke. It's more like what you'd expect from Sally Forth, Pardon My Planet or Sherman's Lagoon. That is not a compliment. But this gag was written by the wholly enigmatic Gygli, so the pedigree is understandably questionable.

Almost as confusing is the unusually realistic way that this male character is rendered, since old Hicky-pants has traditionally taken great pride in drawing everything as crappily as possible. It's almost as if old Hick is playing it... safe. Wotta revoltin' development THAT is.

I am, however, slightly mollified by the man's awkward pose. The man's hands seem to be acting with a mind of their own, as though they're slowly and inexorably gravitating towards the soft, yielding flesh of the woman's throat....either that or the two of them were arguing over the size of Tommy Lee's, um, drumstick.

One final thought... it  has just occurred to me that no matter the intent of these little rants of mine, they are in the long run no different than giving a homeless person a dollar. And about as effective. Think about it.

11-6-07: I'm sorry, but a business whose only interest is a person's tai chi chuan isn't a detective agency, no matter how big the sign they use to convince the gullible otherwise. Therefore, Mr. Clean is not a true detective in exactly the same way that George Bush has not accomplished any missions.

In addition, this joke didn't really need to revolve around a wife's treachery, but for old Hicky-pants a gag without misogyny is like a day without sunshine.

11-7-07: By the beard of Crom and Mithra!

Please don't tell me old Hicky-pants thinks that this lame "detective agency" angle is a rich vein of comic gold, or that he's considering punishing his fan base all week with a series of awkward riff's on the subject. He's already blown his feeble wad with yesterday's mundane "Buddhist" gag and now he's dribbling out this 1% "surrealist" swill. And that's counting the words on the wall.

Speaking of which, yesterday we got a whole sign but today it's just a name scrawled on the wall. I'm suspecting tomorrow's version will involve a bank of snow and a stream of warm urine.

What's truly surreal is that this crapola is allotted room on the page next to professional comics.

Finally, why have the underling refer to the boss as "Dude" when it's clearly a caricature of Salvadore Dali? And why didn't he also add the hip and trendy "tubular" at the end of the sentence? I am, like, so bummed.

11-8-07: "Why, sure, little fellah. Just hold out your hands while I stick my finger down my throat."

Pardon me, but what the heck does a free drink have to do with anything? As far as the logic of this gag goes, he could just as easily have asked for a prostate exam.

Just for fun, let's try some alternate punchlines that, though making better sense, are still pretty limp. But that fault lies with He Who Creates the Premise:

"I think the fact that I'm a garden gnome at Garden Ridge entitles me to a free garden hose."

"I think the fact that I'm a garden gnome at Olive Garden entitles me to a free garden salad."

"I think the fact that I'm a garden gnome at Madison Square Garden means I'll be guarding LeBron James."

Get it? Garden. Guarding.

Ah, I kill me.

Note: This is a particularly insipid gag, even by Quigman standards, but at least it wasn't another one of those 'detective agency' stinkeroos we had for the past couple of days. So for the first time in twelve years allow me to say "Thank you, Buddy, for the lesser of two evils."

See you tomorrow, kids.

11-9-07: Directing may seem easy but it takes a person with vision and dedication to create professional-grade entertanment that can stand the test of time. Otherwise they're just another mediocre hack.

That same insight applies to many professions in this world, even syndicated cartooning.

<Hack-hack!>

Excuse me. I think I <hack!> have a <hack!> little cold.

Sloth Alert: When a rerun is listed in TV Guide they generally place a little (R) by the program's title. When old Hicky-pants <hack!> re-uses a comic he doesn't tell anyone, that's why I always print its original run-date. Like this one, which lets you, the viewer, know this comic originally appeared  on 6-24-02.

11-10-07: Old Hicky-pants once drew a cartoon featuring a family of onions having an argument. Because his chosen art style is so primitive he had to label the comic "The Onion Family" just so readers would understand what they were looking at.

Similarly, this "America's Top Mogul" joke is such a vague parody he had to actually remind his readers it's based on "America's Top Model". (Actually, the program's name is "America's Next Top Model". To old Hicky-pants, "details" is just  a men's magazine.)

Mark my words, some day old Hick will syndicate a blank cartoon panel with the words "Funny picture goes here" and "funny comment goes here" scrawled in the middle. It will be the culmination of a lifetime of underachievement.

Sloth Alert: While America's Next Top model continues to crank out new programming, and ruining the lives of untold numbers of young women, this cartoon is just a rerun from 10-23-03

11-12-07: They're young, they're badly drawn and...OMIGAWD!!!

This isn't just lousy art, this is freaking demented! Check the close-up on the chick:

Does having the woman look like she was just beaten with a tire tool somehow enhance the punchline? Although, come to think of it, a severe, debilitating attack of that nature would certainly explain her bizarre comment since she's clearly off the path, in more ways than one, and she's not floating on thin air.

This comic makes you wonder if syndicated cartoonist's should be allowed to handle their equipment when they're coming down off a month-long Nyquil binge.

From the aesthetic point of view, any real artist will tell you that the most important area in a portrait is the eyes because they're the first thing a normal human looks at... unless the picture is of an elephant fucking a pig, then all bets are off. These eyes look like they were delineated using a blindfold and lawn darts at twenty paces.

In addition, none of the three eyes shown are aimed squarely at the other person, although I'll give the guy the benefit of the doubt as he may be gallantly trying to avoid staring at this woman's hideous deformity.

11-13-07: It seems to me that any "Top Dog" taking out his failures as a father on his progeny has much more the sad stench of pussy than canine about him. (No offense to cat-lovers, those fine, upstanding sentinels of decency.)

Annnnnnnd, yes, it appears that old Hicky-pants is still rendering his images using the Wham-O Lawn-Dart-O-Matic, as evidenced by the seemingly random sprinkling of retinas. Evidently caricaturing the pitiably deformed violates no syndicate decency policies, but let's thank our lucky stars there are evidently rules in place against nose-picking and fart-noises or else old Hick would be happily plundering their comic booty in lieu of actual funny material.

Think I'm kidding?

Old Hicky-pants was co-writer, alongside the mysteriously AWOL Angela Szyszka, on a Flash-animated monstrousity called "Swamp Baby". It quickly and mercifully folded its internet tent as its portrayal of incest, nose-picking, gratuitous farting and exploding baby diapers never attracted an appreciable audience. You have no idea how lucky you are to have somehow avoided this cinematic apocalypse... but I own a copy. If there's enough demand, I'll post it.

Sloth Alert: Here's looking at you again, you cockeyed kid. This comic hails all the way from 11-3-03.

11-14-07: A couple of months ago a Quigmans comic appeared featuring a military aircraft aloft over Iraq. It seemed suspiciously realistic for old Hicky-pants so I jumped on the inter-tubes and quickly tracked down the photo from which he traced it. Using reference imagery is very common in the art biz and it showed that old Hick has at least occasional interest in getting the details right.

So why did he draw a black dove on Mr. Poe's head instead of a raven? This is solid proof that an artist shouldn't always rely on his memory for the fine details of avian anatomy, especially if Nyquil is involved.

So the next time you need to draw a raven, Hicky-pants, here's a handy reference card:

Lastly, why even a raven? Poe also told tales of cats, frogs, bugs, snakes and yes, even scary worms. But why walk the road less traveled when the Avenue of Tired Cliches is so well-paved?

Sloth Alert: Quoth the raven: "What? Again? This comic originally ran 2-19-03. Awk-Awk! Hack-hack!"

11-15-07: Monica the Metaphor Manatee says "Hey, kids! As "mother" is to "comic readers" and "Billy" is to "Quigman cartoonist" then "teddy bear on fire" is to "inabilty to manifest creative chubby, resulting in near-endless streams of banal, outdated, re-used comic strips".

Sloth Alert: And re-used this one was, originating on 9-19-03.

11-16-07:

Review for regular Quigmans readers:
See the kitty? Good kitty. I like this kitty. What a pretty kitty. Oooh, run, kitty, run! Get that tail, kitty! Kitty is funny!"

Review for readers who read Pearls Before Swine:
Thanks for naming this creature "Officer Katz" Buddy because, you know, I might have mistaken it for Officer Wolverine and then my failure to interpret the sophisticated thrust of the joke would haunt my waking hours, the ashen taste of disappointment only blunted by the weapons-grade chemicals I induce through my hungry veins.

Review for readers who watch Fox News:
The tail was eventually arrested, tried, and convicted but it skipped bail while free on appeal. Six months later the tail entered Officer Katz's domicile at 3AM and clubbed him to death with a three-pound Hickory Farms beef stick. It was last seen engaged in a high-speed car chase through downtown Baghdad along with Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and a large, black, Islamofascist female impersonator. Al Gore sucks.

Review for readers who arrived at this web site by accident:
What the hell is a Quigman?

Sloth Alert: This comic is a repeat offender, originally found guilty of impersonating a comic strip on 10-6-03.

11-17-07: Avast! By the powers, this squiffy sprog reeks more of State Farm than the sweet trade. By my reckonin' 'tis the New Jersey turnpike he be sailin', not the seven seas. If this scurvy dog be piratin' naught it be his sister's underpants and the latest Hannah Montana CD.

Sloth Alert: Arrr, this gag, marked by the black spot, sailed into harbor and promptly scuttled itself, settlin' upon Davy Jones locker 8-22-03.

11-19-07: He did it!

Old Hicky-pants finally did it, just like I said he would.

Back in the 11-10-07 commentary I opined that old Hick would eventually create a Qugimans cartoon that was just a blank page with the words "funny picture goes here" and "funny comment goes here" scrawled in the middle. This isn't literally what I described but it's fundamentally the same.

First, by blaming the writer's strike (as a mime strike was unlikely) for his own sin of not being able to dredge up a whimsical quip he's essentially admitting "I have no joke", thus "Funny comment goes here". Second, since this setting of two people sitting quietly could be taken from any of a hundred other Quigmans cartoons he has not created anything new or amusing. Thus, "funny picture goes here".

So congratulations, Hick, on achieving your dream comic, a Double-Generic Quigmans. I'm not sure how you can surpass this ne plus ultra of nincompoopery but allow me to predict that you'll one day print an image of a gooey chunk of cat scat glued to your forehead accompanied by a punchline swiped from B.C.

At that point, my work will be done.

11-20-07: This Quigmans comic tastes like... chicken.

Only not real chicken. I mean Conglomo-Corporo-Agro-bred chicken, the kind that's been genetically adulterated over the decades in order to best attain its current flavorless, textureless manifestation, insuring wide acceptance by the minimal requirements of the uneducated, undiscriminating and incurious American palette.

Yeah, that kind of chicken.

11-21-07: Nice try, Hicky-pants, but you forgot one very small yet vital detail.... dogs from animal shelters have no balls.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

11-22-07: "What if, now stay with me here 'cause this is wayyyy out there, what if a chicken went to a fertility clinic?"

"A chicken? At a fertility clinic?"

"Yeah, yeah, but instead of her eggs being frozen... they got eaten by the clinic guys. Wild, huh?

"They ate... her eggs? Ohhhhh, now I get it! Oh, my god! That's beautiful!"

"And-and-and get this... what if they asked her... for MORE eggs... because they were, you know, HUNGRY or something? Would that be too wild or what?"

"Oh, you are a madman! Would someone call the cops and get this madman out of my office? Would someone just shoot me in the head so I can stop laughing so hard at this madman's jokes? Without a doubt, my friend, this joke is perfect for syndicated comics and I promise you I'll get this printed in next weeks Quigmans."

"Wow! That's gr... the Quigmans? You're kidding, right? This joke is at LEAST witty enough for Andy Capp or Snuffy Smith or..."

"Look, kid, bubelah, don't bust my balls here. You're still a raw talent and, to be honest, it's the best I can do. Now, go home like a good little emerging humorist and write more funny stuff."

"Yeah. Okay. All right. See ya tomorrow."

"Angie, get Buddy Hickerson on the phone for me, willya? Hello, Bud-man? How ya doin', kid? Great! Listen, I hate to do this but you owe me a big one, okay? My sister's kid thinks he's a comedy writer. Yeah, Gygli, yeah, that's him. So he's written this crummy chicken joke, see....."

11-23-07: Yes, it's certainly a good thing that Lucy didn't go over to the bar because she might have slipped and fallen on the wet floor.

What? You think this guy actually placed those orange warning cones around his stool as a deterrence to the ladies, didja?

Puh-leeze!

Only a complete moron would think of something like...oh yeah, I forgot. It's a Quigmans.

Never mind.

11-24-07: If I had drawn this comic I would have ensured that the dress looked unmistakably Valentino-esque. But old Hicky-pants knows that 99.999% of his audience wouldn't know the difference between haute couture and huevos rancheros, so the faster he can drape Lord Harry in something from the Goodwill Barg'n Bin the quicker he can get back to Judge Judy and his hot, steaming bowl of Wolf Brand baba ganoush.

Note:  Let's have a small round of applause for Joe Rocco, the writer of this joke. Although it's obviously just a cast-off he must be commended for helping the handicapped, I.E., the humor-challenged.

11-26-07: Sadly enough, this caption sounds exactly like something someone might write in an attempt to make an insipid cartoon funnier, but who instead only crafts something morbid because they weren't clever enough to create something amusing.

"Oh, look", they'd think, "that bandana wrapped around his neck looks like duct tape. Perhaps it's the only thing keeping his head on. Tee-hee! Ooh, aren't I the wicked one? Next I shall go practice my devilish craft on the Family Circus. That Jeffy shall rue the day he matched wits with me, by golly!"

Incidentally, Buddy, there ARE more scenarios than two people just sitting at a bar. How about something relatively more inventive like, say, a desert island or a psychiatrist's office?

11-27-07: I know this comic may appear annoyingly simple-minded, relying as it does on the proletarian pageantry of pop culture, but on close examination it in fact masks a subtle quadratic equation. To wit:

Where a = lousy art, and b = inane punchline, and c = cable tv show reference.

Thus, ax(squared) + bx + c = 0

Furthermore, where "class" = "elegance" and "dismiss" = "terminate" then = "class dismissed" = "quigmans".

Class dismissed.

11-28-07: "So I agonized over my decision to use this gag even though my syndicate says it's another fat joke."

And not just another fat joke, boys and girls. Old Hicky-pants actually wants us to believe that somewhere out there exists a woman who would wear a dress to a party even after having been told in advance that it makes her look fat.

Never in 13 billion freaking years.

This feeble canard makes the WMD hunt in Iraq seem like a lead-pipe cinch.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, for a joke to work effectively, to really connect with people, you have to couch it in terms that bears some resemblance to their every day sense of normalcy, otherwise it may as well be just another book by Karl Rove.

What other uncivilized and unlikely topic will you take on next, Hicky-pants? Rubber crutches? Heart attacks? Submarine's with screen doors? Compassionate conservatives?

11-29-07: I hate to admit this. I mean, I really, really, REALLY hate to admit this but I know just how this fly feels. Every time I go to visit my doctor and he asks me to drop my underpants I tell him no, I can't do that. You see, once my vend-a-pope has been exposed to the elements there's no other alternative but for me to use it for its predestined function, even though the intended target must be, unless an unwary nurse wanders perilously close, the withered nether-regions of an overweight, balding gentlemen.

Unpleasant? Yeah, tell me about it. But, like the frog, I'm helpless to resist my primitive, instinctual, knee-jerk reactions.

You'd probably think by now my doctor would stop asking. And that he'd especially quit wearing Jungle Gardenia as an aftershave.

I think I need a new doctor.

11-30-07: The shrink should count his blessings. At least he earns three hundred smackers for enduring such unpleasantries. The rest of us have to read the Quigmans for free.