It's one of the big no-nos of family entertainment.
In American entertainment, no one is ever just naked. They're having sex, or implying that they would like to be having sex, or in the shower while a homicidal killer sneaks up on them, or trying to catch the mischievous dog who's scampering away with their underwear. The revealing of the butt crack, the nipple, or the genitals serves a purpose, be it to titillate, to shock, to lampoon, or to get you to pull out your credit card. It's never just there.
Everybody has fantasies, about power, fame, adventure, or sex. Lots of them are about sex.
As you may have noticed, the Comixpedia theme this month is "the death of newspaper comics", or webcomics that fall into a typical newspaper format. A Softer World represents one alternative to that whole subspecies of webcomics, since it represents everything a newspaper comic usually is not: subtle, understated and witty.
Also, it's not drawn.
Here's an innovative strategy to break into the newspaper comic biz: Start a webcomic. Publish daily to prove your reliability, solidify your art style, and iron out any kinks in writing or presentation. Not only does your online presence build a fanbase, it can serve as an up-to-date portfolio.
Enter the ferocious Tyrannosaurus Rex. A merciless beast, he surveys his territory, smashing houses and stomping helpless passersby. Soon, he is confronted by the equally vicious Utahraptor. The two engage each other with lightning speed. In the end, only the mighty T-rex remains. This happens every day in Dinosaur Comics.
It's a comedy.
As the daily newspaper page becomes an increasingly boring place, original and experimental comic strips have moved to two frontiers: the World Wide Web and the free weeklies. Some occupy both spaces at once. So it is with Elliott G. Garbauskas' Buttercup Festival, a sweetly sardonic strip that appears in a handful of weekly newspapers and on its own website, where it has attracted a cult following.
The plot has been done, the art style bears little to set it apart from manga of the late eighties, and the characters are relatively simple.
The "but" coming up after a sentence like that is almost tangible:
If given psychic powers to predict the future, most of us would pick the winning lottery numbers and retire early. The title character of Dominic Deegan, Oracle for Hire, opens up a fortune telling business in a small town where he pays the bills by answering the annoying and downright inane questions of the local populace.
You're loyal. You know this game. You've got at least one example of this sort of thing bookmarked, regardless of whether or not it drives you batty. The beast keeps calling you back to places where you know it lurks, and you keep going, dammit. You know you shouldn't, but you do it anyway, over and over again. Dammit.
The dream job. A job that is not only a means of survival, but also a means of sustenance. A job that is fulfilling, rewarding, a joy to go to each morning and perhaps even a disappointment to leave each evening. Everyone has an idea of their dream job, but only the lucky, lucky few have managed to land (or create) it.