May 24th, 2015

Snarky Candiru2

Memorial Day 2015

Elly invites Sue to read one of the lovely poems she came up with. Today's effort involves the seeming endlessness of laundry time.

(Strip Number 4618, Original Publication Date, 26 May 1986)

Panel 1: We find ourselves at the library today as Elly hands Sue a bunch of the poems she'd written over the years so as to get input from a fellow mother.

Panel 2: She sort of alludes to what's really going on by calling them personal theraphy from a mother's viewpoint.

Panel 3: The first poem Sue reads starts off with the immortal lines "When the dryer is on air-fluff/when the last load is on spin/when you think the laundry's finished/the next load doth begin."

Panel 4: Elly states that this one was written during her (ongoing) futility of housework stage.

Summary: She should spend less time writing horrible poems and more time asking herself how four people make that much dirty laundry. Also, get off your cross, Elly. It's unseemly-looking.
Snarky Candiru2

Tuesday, 26 May 2015: Both Elly and Sue MUST DIE!!!!!

Today, Sue proves herself to be as horrible a person as Elly is when she wets herself in admiration after reading a poem that sublimates the need all mothers have to beat confused, terrified six month children unconscious for robbing their poor mothers of sleep.

(Strip Number 4619, Original Publication Date, 27 May 1986)

Panel 1: We find Sue reading the following poem: "A tiny cry within the night/a mother's touch, a gentle light/a rocking chair, a cheek caressed/a baby to a bosom pressed/a bundle in a cot replaced/a mother's footsteps, soft, retraced/she whispers as the shadows creep/NOW LET ME SLEEP! PLEASE LET ME SLEEP!!!!" (It should be noted that the person doing the catalog saw fit to summarize this as "A sweet poem about a mother putting a restless child back to sleep is concluded with a screaming, overtired plea for rest.")

Panel 2: Elly explains that whenever she felt like hauling off and belting her children out of frustration, she sublimated her boundless aggression into punk poetry in the key of martyrdom. Sue gasps in admiration about how beautiful that is.

Summary: This sort of thing also points the way to the conclusion that her poems are a metaphor for the strip. Here, we have the ten year old on the defensive because he's supposed to apologize for the deeds of the helpless, frightened six month old who actually didn't know what he was doing to piss off the implacable child-woman he calls a mother. No wonder some guy on AV Club who's so dense that light bends around him wants April to apologize for killing Farley every day; there are busloads of people that dim.