Lio rarely fails to please, and often manages to delight.
And, for those with limited English skills, it's also available in Spanish!
When Mark Tatulli debuted the strip in 2006, it got a lot of "adds" (that is, newspaper clients), but sparked some discussion within the biz about how he was going to be able to keep it up. A comic strip without words is a real challenge, and Tatulli's other strip, "Heart of the City," is actually kind of wordy, though certainly not to the point of a fault. But it thrives on convolution and, obviously, Lio could not.
There have been other pantomime strips, of course, including "The Little King," which you can find on DailyInk among their vintage cartoons, as well as "Henry," which is still being drawn but whom I realized at a very young age was both repetitive and dwelt in a mythical land in which women repeatedly left pies on windowsills to cool.
Or to be stolen and eaten by little boys with no mouths.
But Tatulli adds a touch of character to Lio himself, to his hapless father and to his delightful pet squid that provides some dimension to the strip, so that even on the not-brilliant days (which make up the bulk of nearly every comic strip's output), there's enjoyment to be had simply in sharing their company.
And the brilliant days crack me up, and come more often than with most strips.
Some people don't get the humor in Lio, but that's why they sell more flavors than vanilla.
(At the good ice cream shops, mind you. There are plenty of newspapers that sell only vanilla. Don't get me started.)
And speaking of quality control:
The current rerun of "Richard's Poor Almanac" provides not only an opportunity to remind you that it's available at GoComics, but also to use it as a positive and uplifting example of something.
Which is "scansion."
I realize a lot of artists were, perhaps, art majors rather than English majors. But, goddammittall, scansion is taught in junior high, and that last link is to a fifth/sixth grade teacher's page. Jeff Foxworthy is looking over your shoulder.
It is often said, here and elsewhere, that good art can't save bad writing, and nowhere is that more true than when an artist decides to make his point with poetry and ... oh dear lord ... if you can't detect what makes Richard Thompson's above verses sing, perhaps I can illustrate the point with a well-known limerick:
There was a young chap named McMahon
Whose poems would never quite scan.
When told it was so,
He said, "Yes, I know.
" But I always try to get as many words into the last line as I possibly can."
The Incredible Cuteness of Being has some competition.
Or, more likely, a comical sidekick and unindictable co-conspirator.
Good on ya, Keefe. Looking forward to the utter destruction of your inner peace and crumbling of your psyche, as depicted in graphic form.
But let's not part on such a pleasant note:
Yesterday's posting plumbed the depths to which stupid, brain-destroying entertainment could sink. Ces notes that there are no depths that cannot be plumbed to an even deeper level.
But, given that, how I wish he weren't kidding about God's response.
Apologies to Keefe for the world that we are foisting upon his young'uns.
This one was better: