Sad Sack

No club will have him, and the last time he tried being upbeat and optimistic, this happened:

The Comeback Tour

Phase One of Ziggy's Comeback Tour has begun. I confess that the sight of Ziggy all Elvis'd up touches the pleasure centers in my brain like no image since the squid attack (and where has Ziggy's pimpin' coat gone?).

Out of that smallish box of hair has sprung a new Ziggy, a stronger and more confident Ziggy. Even his trademark frown has taken on a medicated rock star look, and it's arguable that a civilian can't get much more kingly than through emulation of The King. Too bad a guitar, resting on the ground, would cover his face.

Pundit, Pundthat

I won't bother linking once again to the long series of adventures between Ziggy and the guru, but he's been making the trek up Big 'ol Lump Peak for increasingly-trivial trivialities (if you may permit me a brief redundancy). The guru has taken up astrology, celebrity gossip and even set up a Starbucks, but he's showing an uncharacteristic restraint here. As long as he understands his place and he's overcome his previous depression, I'm willing to overlook the fact that our titular character is essentially climbing up a near-vertical slope on a routine basis for single-sentence banalities. Mysticism is all a sham, of course, but so is politics.

Read the Fine Print

Zing! This strip's foray into contemporary economic humor certainly lays the lash to Bear Stearns investors. Ziggy stands by ineptly, like a gorilla with a terrible credit rating.

Judging by the fruity cursive of the word "and", this bespectacled official must have had quite a segue planned between the first and second halves of his sentence, before finally deciding that his operation was already shot to hell and it was time to disclose that his company has been neglecting FDIC regulations. I guess when you're destined for the slammer a bit of gallows humor can't hurt.

Bitter Harvest

Having misplaced his trust into the hands of purported experts, Ziggy now reaps the bitter harvest gleaned through ill-pointed reliance. The empty uniform on the left regards Ziggy with a sort of indignant suspicion, shrugging off his incompetence with the sort of wishy-washy explanation that his charge is likely to accept, while indirectly assigning blame to the one who called this "expert" in the first place.

The mechanic on the right (who we know is a different guy because his hat and jumpsuit are different colors, obviously) has apparently bypassed mere incompetence in favor of pure unbridled insanity, committing punny acts of Amelia Bedelia proportions. Ziggy is an apt target for mechanical misconduct - his world lacks the concept of malpractice suits or even well-founded anger. Even when individuals wrong him, Ziggy rarely assigns blame, more likely ascribing the mistreatment to the wheels of an inscrutable universe.

The Idiot Box Has Opened My Eyes

A confession: One recurring problem with this blog is the need to continuously reference the title character. Occasionally I'm able to stem the flow of Ziggy ennui by reaching into my descriptive grab bag, but referring to Ziggy as "our luckless chum" or "our pessimistic protagonist" does little to address the underlying issue of Ziggy's pervasiveness in this feature. I can only hope that you find, as I do, a certain camp value to the adventures of the hapless pink blob that serves as the subject of this blog. That name which shows up in the URL, posts and artwork of this blog, and the character who answers to it, are the heart and soul of this blog. It seems fitting that Ziggy, the world's most recognizable pink blob, be granted the dubious honor of this, the ultimate Blob's Blog.

On to the feature. Ziggy's television set, always honest-bordering-on-the-surreal, attempts a final disclaimer urging insomniacs citywide to bed. Ziggy's not hearing a single word of it, except possibly for the first: "ANOTHER." Another program?, He thinks with all of the vim and gusto of a late-nite television viewer: Don't mind if I do.

If this feature really wants to simulate the mind-numbing drudgery of television overdose (hey, it's a slippery slope!), I can think of nothing better than to run the following strip for a week. Trust me, it's the only way to make a statement. It's an actual, undoctored photo of the moment your soul solidifies into concrete:

Bling Blong Blah

Ziggy's been a Hallmark staple for years, and I think we have another winner:



Ziggy, cheer up! So you've transcended sadness to full-blown apathy - there's still hope! You have a loving parrot, a sentient computer and a nice array of long-sleeved shirts. Hallmark loves you and you've been mistakenly hated by people who don't understand you for two generations! Uh. . . strike that last one.

A Moment of Repose

At first glance, Ziggy seems to be rocking himself to madness, perhaps in response to yesterday's fruitless search for guidance. The bags under his eyes attest that he's been at it for most of the night, manically pondering the elusive nature of meaning as he and his parrot rock to oblivion*.

But that's only the first glance. The second glance is far more nirvanic. If we assume that the bags in Ziggy's eyes are caused merely by lack of sleep and not by crushing, abject melancholy, then this strip can be read as a communion between man and nature. Certainly the parrot looks pleased - it knows that true meaning can be found only in the context of a friend. And that's about as sentimental as I feel like getting today.

I have tried to render the moment of communion for you:

How completely serene. Anybody else notice that the undersides of Ziggy's feet appear to be concave and have a tread pattern?

(Possible additional themes: Shhh. . . go pet a cat.)

* The "Rocking to Oblivion" tour! Three days only - get your tickets online at etc., etc.