A Carton of Hate and a Wedge of Spite. 'Nuff said. ( )

For reasons that I can't fully fathom, I was immediately enamored with the images of Milk and Cheese. Was it the boxy heads or face filling features or the almost always in motion over-sized feet and hands. Maybe. But I suspect it really was the greasepaint Groucho eyebrows appropriately borrowed from the original menace of mayhem--unless you count Attila The Hun. There is really little point to all this but to wreak havoc--quite literal and visceral physical destruction--while being self referential and breaking the fourth wall but it is very amusing for awhile. Best read in small doses or enjoyed as originally published individually in various comic collections where they would benefit from clearly standing out from everything else around it. While each comic skewers a different subject, too often it is "second verse, same as the first". I almost always enjoyed them and suspect I would have enjoyed them more had I stumbled across them in the 80's when they originally debuted. Of course, I could never truly bad mouth anything that references Merv Griffin, lawn darts and catching Monk at the Pussycat Lounge. And of course beating up a record store clerk at least in part because he'd never heard of Nat King Cole didn't hurt either. ( )

As is my policy, I don't rate books that I don't finish. Mostly because there is always a chance that they could improve greatly.

Between the difficult art, the pointless violence, and the lack of story, I decided not to finish. I suspect that this is a book of its time and that time has passed.