Holy Christ, I can't believe this. 62 Years of Beetle Bailey. 62 Intolerable Years of Beetle Bailey. All in one book. How could this happen? Hi, I'm from Time-Life Books and we are selling this for some reason. They are recording my voice and image as I am speaking these words. Are you kidding me? 62 Years? Okay, you're nodding. My God. Someone has been doing this for 62 years. Well here it is, anyway.
Check it out. Just get a gander at this motherfucking book. It's full of all your favorite dumbshit characters. Remember how they entertained you with their antics? No? Because they didn't. The only time you ever laughed at Beetle Bailey was when your friend drew nipples on Miss Buxley. Turn up that light, Steve; I want people to know this is real. Christ. Look at it. It's not even worth burning.
Okay, let's get this over with. Thousands. Thousands of pages. You could waste your life reading this shit. Many have. Apparently someone on the third floor thought this should be preserved for the future. So further generations can be bored out of their goddamned minds by inane garbage. How much is this, again? 135 dollars. And we're not just selling this to nursing homes? Okay.
Let's crack this open. Wow. At least 10 Baileys per page. If each of these strips was a grain of sand, it'd take nearly an entire day to empty Satan's Hourglass. Look! He's sleeping in a hammock in at least half of these. Parents, do you hate your children, but don't want to suffer the legal repercussions of poisoning them? Sell your TV and buy them this book. I guarantee they will walk out of your life and into the nearest open, abandoned refrigerator, and with no questions asked.
Can you imagine if your friends walked into your house and saw this thing resting comfortably on your coffee table? No jury would convict them if they killed you right then and there, preferably with the book itself. We're still rolling? Fine. And who could forget all of those memorable characters? Damnit, wheel that thing closer. Oh yeah, Beetle Bailey, of course. Just turn it off, I got this. And then there's the fat guy who yells at him, and then there's an Asian guy and a black guy, I think? Have any of these assholes even seen combat? What kind of horrible, endless conflict are they trapped in? Buy the book, and learn nothing. Just a bunch of morons eating gigantic sandwiches and turkey legs.
Okay, right. Says here there's a foreward by Mort Walker? Christ, the guy has to be at least 90 years old. Someone out there tell me what nursing home he's rotting away in. I'm going to go there and spit right in his wrinkled face. What the -- he did Hi and Lois, too? Am I understanding correctly that the American populace has such low standards for entertainment that they've allowed this unholy pair to waste at least eight seconds of their life on a daily basis since the 1950s? The fact that no one has invaded us yet absolutely astounds me.
Okay, let's wrap this up. Get a good zoom on that bad boy. You listening to me? Do you find The Middletons too offensive? Then lift that withered, arthritic hand now and give us a call, you piece of human filth. Operators are standing by, and don't want to hear about your grandchildren. What's that, Steve? Okay, I've just gotten word that the U.S. Postal Service refuses to deliver this, so please inquire about one of our many overpriced shipping options. Just look at what the critics are saying! I don't care anymore.
- Leroy Stansworth, Literacy World
- Thurston Schramer, The Scholastic Junior Reader for Kids Grades 4-6
- "Scary" Larry Fillmore, Fangoria
- Beth Farkus, Bookums
- Steve Washingon, Senior Mailroom Clerk, The New York Times
it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
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