by Thomas Keister

Amazing how little it seems like there is to bitch about once a new year kicks off. All the crap we had forced down our gullets 365 days last year can't help but seem a little dated now, and that's just what you think when you realize you have just written '09 on all the checks for the bills, and for the second time in a row.

Sure, there are a few issues that will survive the arrival of Baby New Year, like two wars, one crap economy, a health care boondoggle even Dr. House couldn't cure, and no real hero on the horizon, just a bunch of people talkin' about change like we haven't heard that mess every four years since day one. But at least all those things are tangible, they can and will continue to nip at our asses as we run up and down stairs, in and out of offices, or on and off the morning train.

Thank God people still find time to bitch about the funny pages.

No, I did not just date myself (I'm 34, for the record), but I still have the lingering memories of having the comics called just that - the funny pages. Supposed to be just that - funny, a little distraction from the tragic comedies continued throughout the rest of the paper. If only that were true.

Having just read some half-assed opinion piece about the perceived value of the comics, and what happens when some whippersnapper tries to mess with it, I decided to write my own half-assed piece on the state of comics, using my local paper of choice, the Louisville Courier-Journal.

Why, on a daily basis, I am assailed by fifty-year-old punchlines (Peanuts, B.C., Dennis the Menace), insipid greeting card humor (Family Circus), and worse yet, soap operas doled out 2-4 panels at a time (Apartment 3-G or the insufferable Rex Morgan, M.D.), I will never know. I mean, Peanuts? I literally do not know anyone alive that finds humor from Peanuts.

Cathy? I'm sure if she wasn't so busy trying to find a pair of boots that didnt make her look like a fat chick in a pair of boots, then maybe she could have been Tiger's #15 (or whatever the hell the number is to by now).

B.C.? Reminds me of the two Vaudeville performers from Family Guy, only there is no infant packing an automatic to take care of comic genius such as this. Speaking of which, where are all the gun-toting infants these days? You would have thought the NRA would be working overtime on that.

Garfield and Marmaduke? The only guy to secure as much money and fame with as little material as the creators of these two strips is Larry the Cable Guy, and that is actually a complement to Larry the Cable Guy. I have heard the only thing worse than neglecting an animal is not putting one down when it is more than apparent it is time. Are you listening, Jim Davis?

Don't even get me started on Ziggy. I have made the joke on occasion that I would consider selling my left testicle to Satan for fame, but Tom Wilson, I hope hell for him is watching the director's cut of Gilmore Girls, all the seasons, on a loop for all of eternity. And I hope Elizabeth Hasselbeck and Amy Winehouse share the couch with him...

You want a laugh, go online. You want comedy in your newspaper, stick to the political news. At least there, the punchlines are always new in the end.