See: "Sucker"

What the hey - it's still better than this.

C is For Carnage

Yes! There's nothing better than sudden, unprovoked wrath from a deranged stranger, one who sees threats in the clouds and omens in the rainbows. This wrinkled old coot doesn't want to pick a fight, but goldarnit truth and virtue are at state.

The War of the Fortune cookie was a long one, a hard one. Many died, and none lost more than those near the Mongolian barbecue, between the bar and the ice cream machine at the Water Lily. A glance at this image ought to keep the memorials modest enough.

Scare Fare

Is this really necessary? I mean, for Ziggy? Ziggy's been beating down so thoroughly by life and adversity that he's incapable of reacting in any way other than resigned acceptance or an empty stare. Appropriately, the worst we've ever seen him is in response to imminent doctoral chicken probing. Given that the chicken quotient of this ride must be fairly low, he'd best leave that Tinky Winky-colored machine alone.

Blobby Blog Dog

Ziggy (the strip, as well as the individual) always places an odd emphasis on certain words within every sentence, but today's affront to the English language is particularly baffling. The emphasis on the word "tripping" in "PEOPLE KEEP TRiPPiNG OVER HiM!" seems to suggest that Ziggy expects people to do some other thing over the flabby little mutt, and I can't for the life of me figure out what he's referring to.

Realistically, the new sign may not even help. If a passerby wasn't already completely distracted by Ziggy's resemblance to a behammered, bedraggled lawn gnome, or how much his home looks like a cubist turtle, they may be observant enough not to miss the dog entirely. Still, Ziggy's flabby, big-schnozzed mutt could pick a more convenient place for a noontime siesta. As it stands he's a portly speed bump for neighborhood bike messengers.

Fire Sauce

"Dave" has built his chili palace of torment, pain and internal hemorrhaging - a proud fact that has not escaped the notice of his menu. The escalated pricing scheme for increasing levels of anguish only proves that Dave is the reigning monarch of this hellish mound of capsaicin and promises of future diarrhea. Even the napkins are laced with habañero extract. Meanwhile, Ziggy awaits his meal like a death row prisoner, keeping company with the sort of gustatory masochists who would frequent a place like this.

Ballroom Bliss

Yes! The mystery is solved! The guru's inconsistent behavior is at last explained, for Mt. Bulgy Peak has long found itself the scene of a territorial war between these magnificent, wizened creatures. Having lost sight of inner peace and transcended transcendence, these bearded sages now think only of dominance and the thrill of dethroning their rivals. I'd like to think that this peak's slope evens out at some point, rather than consider the fact that there may be a pile of identical dead gurus somewhere below.

Mom and Pop Store

Ziggy looks especially pudgy today, and his feet resemble fleshy diving flippers even more than usual. He's also passing an establishment whose perpetual fear of the family patriarch must create some awkward dining situations. A sign like this in a restaurant makes "*Slap!* Get in the kitchen!" especially redundant.