I Can’t See It

Tropical Depression

Morris Keesan: I understand this; I just feel that I ought to recognize the depressed man under the hat. It looks vaguely like Edgar Allan Poe, but not quite, and knowing Esmay, I mean “Lovely”, I suspect that it’s probably supposed to be some modern celebrity that I have no chance of recognizing.

What Moore Can Happen to Les?

Clearly Tom Batiuk is hellbent on showing us that Lisa Moore was, indeed, the lucky one. When last we saw widower Les, he was wandering the seedier parts of New York City, having just had his wallet and cell phone stolen — and he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to have been on his way home today.

He’s clearly no more than a deus ex machina away from becoming one of those guys who tries to tries to clean your windshield with a greasy rag near the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

Since by now even Mr. Batiuk must be running out of tortures to inflict on his characters, I propose (said proposal suggested by one of Laurie’s posts) that we help him out by suggesting additional indignities Les can be subjected to before the Great Leap Forward (and extra credit if it explains why he apparently isn’t telling all this to a psychiatrist until ten years later).

Yesterday’s Post: Where Depression’s Just Status Quo

So what, Les is living on Skid Row now and has lost track of what day it is? And never bought a return ticket?

Maybe this is why he isn’t speaking to the psychiatrist until 10 years after the fact: He’d been living in New York as a homeless person for the past decade.

You know… It reaches a point where the unrelenting misery just becomes perversely funny

 or country music.