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This is one of the earliest strips and frankly I was too hard on ol’ Cannibal Corpse. I wrote the first strips while living in rural South Carolina. I’m still friends with the dude in the first panel but at the time I didn’t know where any of the old gang were. I was crabby and malnourished in general because I didn’t figure out a proper diet until around four years ago.
The hieroglyph depicted in the “punch panel” of this strip represents a circular struggle many of us are grappling with right now. We want to knock it off with the political shit, but we also want a valid excuse for indulging in our baser urges.
When a band shows us the top of the mountain, we treat them the harshest. Every time we see them, we want them to take us to the top of the mountain one more time. If they can’t or won’t do it again, out come the knives.
I strive to be fair in my work, I really do. Except for when I don’t, and I’m not.
Meaning, there’s a handful of musical acts for which I have no love. All I have for them is contempt, which I lamely try to carve into humor. It’s best that I come clean about it, to put an end to wondering why I don’t mention some bands at all. Ever.