Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Death to Cathy
I don't read the funny pages much these days, and one reason why is the worst comic strip ever created: "Cathy." Fuck "Cathy." It's this not-funny comic strip about a fat, ugly, insecure bitch named Cathy. Usually the strip involves four panels that progress as follows:
1. Cathy laments lifelong body image/weight problem.
2. Cathy gets on scale, observes her mammoth weight, and cries "Aack!"
3. Cathy goes to gym but leaves before exercising.
4. Cathy contemplates suicide while eating a gallon of rocky road in bed.
Or:
1. Cathy agonizes over what to wear on date with some bald, ugly hobbit of a man named "Irving" or something.
2. Cathy puts on miniskirt, observes her thunder thighs, and cries "Aack!"
3. Cathy dons sack-like dress reminiscent of Laura Ingalls Wilder 1870s plains attire with signature Six from "Blossom" circa 1991 daisy hat and goes on date with Irving, who does not talk.
4. Cathy contemplates suicide while eating a gallon of rocky road in bed.
Or:
1. Cathy agonizes over telling her pushy mother that she is still single while frantically cleaning her apartment to meet said mother's impossibly high standards.
2. Cathy sees sinkful of dirty dishes, observes the domestic evidence of her miserable solitary existence, and cries "Aack!"
3. Cathy tells her mother that she is dating a mystery doctor/lawyer/successful businessman who doesn't exist.
4. Cathy contemplates suicide while eating a gallon of rocky road in bed.
Guess what? A window into the life of a pathetic, socially retarded tub of lard who never gets laid isn't funny. Maybe it would be funny if there were a fifth panel featuring me killing Cathy in some way ripped off from a Road Runner cartoon (by lighting her on fire and sending her into a fireworks factory, tricking her into the LaBrea tar pits, or the classic dropping an anvil on her head). However, sadly that part of the comic always gets edited out. It really pisses me off that Cathy is (I presume) intended to appeal to single women. Bullshit. I don't relate to this bitch at all. If I react to my physical appearance with "Aack!" my immediate reaction would NOT be to hit the sheets with a bucket of ice cream. Go to the gym, dump that vapid asshole Irving, get a new haircut, get laid, and go be fucking ridiculously fabulous, you stupid bitch! Who wants to hang out with some dimple-assed heifer that does nothing but whine and freak out about her own easily rectifiable problems? Get a fucking life, Cathy!
I am amazed that people still read "Cathy," but apparently they do, because today I got a postcard from the U.S. Postal Service featuring a USPS-specific Cathy comic strip. What the fuck?! Who thought it would be a good idea to advertise flat-rate priority mail shipping boxes by featuring this fatass bitching about her weight? Why are American tax dollars paying for this? Surely the Postmaster General couldn't have believed this was a good idea that would sell more Priority Mail postage.
The premise of the postcard comic is that Cathy is glad she no longer has to subtract her weight from her weight plus her package to calculate postage, because this obsessive self-hating whale can't even mail her return size 14 mumu back to Chicos.com without getting on the scale and screaming "Aack!" Wow, thanks, U.S. Postal Service, for inventing your flat-rate priority mail boxes! Now Cathy has one less daily task in which she is confronted with her obesity problem, so she can just skip the "Aack!" and go straight to the Haagen Dazs. That's a product I know I want to consume. Where's the nearest post office...I feel like mailing something without weighing it right now!
This ad campaign is a fucking disaster. Next time I want a package shipped, it's FedEx all the way.
1. Cathy laments lifelong body image/weight problem.
2. Cathy gets on scale, observes her mammoth weight, and cries "Aack!"
3. Cathy goes to gym but leaves before exercising.
4. Cathy contemplates suicide while eating a gallon of rocky road in bed.
Or:
1. Cathy agonizes over what to wear on date with some bald, ugly hobbit of a man named "Irving" or something.
2. Cathy puts on miniskirt, observes her thunder thighs, and cries "Aack!"
3. Cathy dons sack-like dress reminiscent of Laura Ingalls Wilder 1870s plains attire with signature Six from "Blossom" circa 1991 daisy hat and goes on date with Irving, who does not talk.
4. Cathy contemplates suicide while eating a gallon of rocky road in bed.
Or:
1. Cathy agonizes over telling her pushy mother that she is still single while frantically cleaning her apartment to meet said mother's impossibly high standards.
2. Cathy sees sinkful of dirty dishes, observes the domestic evidence of her miserable solitary existence, and cries "Aack!"
3. Cathy tells her mother that she is dating a mystery doctor/lawyer/successful businessman who doesn't exist.
4. Cathy contemplates suicide while eating a gallon of rocky road in bed.
Guess what? A window into the life of a pathetic, socially retarded tub of lard who never gets laid isn't funny. Maybe it would be funny if there were a fifth panel featuring me killing Cathy in some way ripped off from a Road Runner cartoon (by lighting her on fire and sending her into a fireworks factory, tricking her into the LaBrea tar pits, or the classic dropping an anvil on her head). However, sadly that part of the comic always gets edited out. It really pisses me off that Cathy is (I presume) intended to appeal to single women. Bullshit. I don't relate to this bitch at all. If I react to my physical appearance with "Aack!" my immediate reaction would NOT be to hit the sheets with a bucket of ice cream. Go to the gym, dump that vapid asshole Irving, get a new haircut, get laid, and go be fucking ridiculously fabulous, you stupid bitch! Who wants to hang out with some dimple-assed heifer that does nothing but whine and freak out about her own easily rectifiable problems? Get a fucking life, Cathy!
I am amazed that people still read "Cathy," but apparently they do, because today I got a postcard from the U.S. Postal Service featuring a USPS-specific Cathy comic strip. What the fuck?! Who thought it would be a good idea to advertise flat-rate priority mail shipping boxes by featuring this fatass bitching about her weight? Why are American tax dollars paying for this? Surely the Postmaster General couldn't have believed this was a good idea that would sell more Priority Mail postage.
The premise of the postcard comic is that Cathy is glad she no longer has to subtract her weight from her weight plus her package to calculate postage, because this obsessive self-hating whale can't even mail her return size 14 mumu back to Chicos.com without getting on the scale and screaming "Aack!" Wow, thanks, U.S. Postal Service, for inventing your flat-rate priority mail boxes! Now Cathy has one less daily task in which she is confronted with her obesity problem, so she can just skip the "Aack!" and go straight to the Haagen Dazs. That's a product I know I want to consume. Where's the nearest post office...I feel like mailing something without weighing it right now!
This ad campaign is a fucking disaster. Next time I want a package shipped, it's FedEx all the way.
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