We’re in the library of a stately mansion. An elderly husband and wife — he in smoking jacket, she in pearls and tiara — sit in wingback chairs by a roaring fire. He’s reading the Times, she’s reading a novel. A dog snoozes obliviously on a pillow.
There is a big, swirly dog turd on the ornate rug between them.
The husband is saying, baffled: “Well if you didn’t poo on the 18th Century Mughal rug, and I didn’t poo on the 18th Century Mughal rug, who could have possibly…?”
No new art today. I was getting spoiled.
It’s football season. Maybe 5% of the stories in Golden Age Comics were about clean-living college football players and the rotten gamblers who were always kidnaping them so they could guarantee their bets.
This one is a little different, because it’s the coach who is the rotten gambler, and he is killing people.
Come back next week. There’s more, I promise. Please draw, I can’t.