Ends of Ends

A solitary sojourn to the ethereal Corner of the World - a place ravaged by the bloody excesses of Man, celestial in its imposed peace yet a silent witness to the barbarism that has led it to its permanent state of ever-weary yet paradisiacal mourning. A refuge only in the same absolute way as Death itself, this corner goes nowhere, for there is nowhere beyond to go.

How does one measure a moebius?

Ziggy's life is a grey amorphous mass, populated from day to day by an unchanging cast of dysfunctional characters, trite malaproprisms and "aint-that-how-life-goes" one-liners, each and every one a feeble attempt to deal with the unending monotony that characterizes his existence. It's a Groundhog's Day that only technically moves linearly forward, a Kafkaesque nightmare sans the cockroach, a gorilla on his back that just keeps on eatin' nanners. It's not as severe as Hell, but it's as futile and it's as colorless and drab . And how many of us are any different?

Hi! My name is Dustin, and I write a Ziggy blog.

Health Decoder Rings Out!

Due to a bad case of Not Feeling Very Funny, I haven't posted for awhile. But what's this guy's expose for moping? I mean, besides the terrible business arrangement he's currently working through?

Sad Sack

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

Idiot Box, Next on FOX

Look at that face - empty, expressionless eyes, fixated squarely on the only moving object in the room: that series of swirling pixels and cathode rays that serves as the home's centerpiece. Veg the body, veg the mind. Fat, dumb and happy? Well, I suppose two out of three isn't bad.

The worst part about turning yourself into a vacant, television-respirating houseplant is having to get up to refill your drink. Here I speak from experience. Might want to check out one of those armchair toilets, but have it wired to the house's plumbing with a bidet so you don't have to clean it or your swollen, chafed and immobile butt.

More Commands

Not much to say here. Just a perfectly normal, passive-aggressive sign with an attitude. The ruthless suppression of dissent doesn't really get to me because it's difficult to imagine Ziggy complaining about anything. Ziggy's mind would really blow if the last line were: "And NO reading this sign!"

In the Wine of Love. . .

How sad - Ziggy is unable to hear the music of love. Consider the following: he was actually turned away from a dating service. Although it's possible that part of Ziggy's problem is an inability to tell how to visit websites. No, you don't always have to visit the company's HQ in Pittsburgh. No, the receptionist is not your only option. I'm sure that they have kiosks set up for just that purpose.

No, you'll have to brave it online, Ziggy. Let's see how the whole thing plays out. You'll have to click the following image to read it clearly:


Back to the parrot and the television set, my friend. It's for your own good. On a lighter note, look at his right foot in the image at the top.
Q: Doesn't he make suction cup sounds when he walks? A: He does.

Cue "Mad World"

Ah, yes - the psychiatrist's couch - that old comedy standby. And what better way to work through your inner demons/phobias/crippling insecurities than by vending to what looks to be Freud's great great grandson.

And for one of Freud's posterity, you're making this far too easy, Ziggy. Elevators are plainly symbols of the womb. Elevator music parallels the screams of childbirth. It's your mother! She brought you into this world, full of hatred and despair! She formed your fleshy body, a prison for your anxiety and despair!

Needlessly dark diatribes aside, it's nice that this is the biggest thing on Ziggy's mind. You'll do alright, kid.

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.

Proctor & Gamble's Got Me Wherever I Turn!

Yes! Best "Ziggy" of all time!

I confess that the sight of Ziggy's unfortunate entombment in oral hygiene products fills me with undiluted joy. But it's not just the image - there's something indescribably, maddeningly wonderful about the enormous When Animals Attack-style letters hovering over Ziggy's head: "DENTAL FLOSS MALFUNCTION"! Needless to say, this phrase ("DENTAL FLOSS MALFUNCTION") will be working itself into my daily vocabulary.

It's the little touches that make this one. The single strand of dental floss threading itself under his foot, through his mouth and around his back, then making the trans-Ziggy journey a good dozen more times before final running out of juice just after looping over his nose. The way his arms hang limply and ineffectively at his side, trapped by his self-woven web of floss. The way Ziggy can't quite manage his usual look of resigned, confused desperation because of the way the floss twists his mouth around.

But it's the caption that really sells the image. Imagine this comic without the caption. We see a sad, dysfunctional man whose morning routine involves regular brushes with death, standing alone in the washroom corner. But add "DENTAL FLOSS MALFUNCTION" to the mess and it's a reminder that, hey, life is funny. Funny for everybody except the guy whose morning near-maiming with simple consumer goods is even now being published worldwide.

But Ziggy's a nice guy, and we wouldn't want to see him suffer too much. You have to admit, he's taking it like a trooper. I'm tempted to think that the "caption" isn't a caption at all, but black paint that Ziggy has prepared for just this possibility. He's juuuust blocking the "STAND HERE" with his head. What other contingency areas has Ziggy prepared throughout the house?

Future Hazy - Please Try Again Later

The worst part is that this is what she saw.

I like this strip - something about the way the words all run together at the end gives it an impromptu air. And if the arcane soothsayer's words are to be trusted, it's implied that Ziggy may remain single for his entire life. If that's the closest that she can get to a future love experience, I'd like to suggest that Ziggy go all the way and try out the celibate lifestyle. Something about his appearance in this strip suggests that he'd make a good monk.

Of course, if Ziggy's going to become a monk, now would be a good time for him to start following Biblical counsel: "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." - Exodus 22:18. Inspiring words if I've ever heard them. There may never be a better chance to blame the messenger while tasting sweet, sweet okey-dokey-in-the-eyes-of-the-Almighty revenge.

Toying With Our Lives

My First Sunday Ziggy!


We've already seen Ziggy's life made a game by candy manufacturers and his valid product warranties turned into a platform for unnecessary reminders of his mortality. Now Ziggy's mind must prepare for a higher level of ambiguity: betrayal by our elected officials. No longer is safety sacrosanct: Washington is now officially gambling with our lives.

Perhaps it's a misguided attempt to introduce suspense or excitement into the daily commute. The "Ziggy. . ." in the upper-left corner certainly seems to be setting the stage for some tension. Then again, perhaps it's an attempt to remind us of the citizen's dilemma in a state run amok with power. Nevertheless, it's apparent by Ziggy's hopeless expression that the previous stresses in his life have taken their toll. We have no doubt what he sees:

Enlightment is a 20-Watt Bulb

Having battled a lifelong struggle with apathy and despair just below the threshold of self-loathing, Ziggy burns his life savings in a quietly desperate search for the last bastion of truth in the world. Unfortunately, he finds that the cartoon archetype of the wise mountain sage is no longer a certainty; like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the American Dream, this "guru" has succumbed to the empty charms of the hip, perky modern age - he no longer sets spiritually-weary travelers on the path to inner peace. This former seer's new peers are magazine columnists and cutthroat celebs, and the closest he will ever get to the mysteries of the universe is his new column opposite the horoscope.

Even as Ziggy treads on the man's beard, he ponders the long, long trek back home, the fallibility of role models and the shot glass in which he will keep his remaining faith in mankind.

(Possible additional themes: The correlation between terrain and meditational quality, Modern disillusionment in popular archetypes, Man's search for meaning in an uncaring universe)

The Man in the Machine

Today, Ziggy experiences firsthand the sad abuses of the consumer culture, held hostage in this drab financial institution until such time as he can pony up enough cash to buy his freedom. I'd imagine that what follows plays out a bit like 2004's The Terminal, only without so many gift shops and restaurants to subsist upon. Ziggy, having dropped in to the bank merely for directions, will now finally be forced to resort to a hunter-gatherer lifestyle for which he is entirely unprepared. He will die cold and alone in the corner by the Skittles machine.

Judging by the guard's position, I'd like to imagine that he honks Ziggy's nose immediately after finishing his sentence.

(Possible additional themes: Abuse of authority, What it means to "escape")