Terrible Delicatessen -- 9.9.13

You Light Up My Life, Part I -- The Girl Of Kreemie's Dreamies

What would you do if an inscrutable young woman of Eastern European descent walked into your deli and wanted a roast beef sandwich? Would you fall in love?

Yes. Yes you would. Of course you would . You'd get all hot 'n bothered. You'd come to be delirious and euphoric. And delusional. Like Kreemie. 

And then your boss would walk into the frame in nothing but his skivvies. And you and your dream partner would be mortified. That's what would happen. Because that's how life is.

Isn't it? 

NEXT WEEK:  You Light Up My Life, Part II . I know it was you, Gary! You broke my heart! YOU BROKE MY HEART.

Quien me amat, amet et canum meum.

 

Terrible Delicatessen -- 9.2.13

Gary ain't screwed. We sometimes let the most infinitesimal life-items drive us insane, like when you get deodorant on your t-shirt, or you wait over a minute at a stoplight, or when there are ants in your cereal. In this week's strip, Gary loses it over a BCC email.

Don't be Gary.

Or be him, what do I care?

9.2.13

NEXT WEEK: You Light Up My Life, Part I. Kreemie's in love!

Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 8.26.13

No Pont l'Eveque ever. Life stinks, for the most part, though some people manage to make things work no matter how bad it reeks. Like Gary, for instance.

Kreemie, on the other hand... not so much.

8.26.13

8.26.13

NEXT WEEK: Gary gets a Bcc: email, Kreemie spouts off some icy-cold internet facts, and Mr. Craig List makes a special guest appearance. Kind of.

Ulula cum lupis, cum quibus esse cupis.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 8.12.13

The Bro Sip is a thing. Kreemie witnesses an earnest Bro Sipand gets all churlish about it. Gary identifies with Bro-ass Bros. Usual nonsense at the Deli, you know.

8.12.13

Supplemental: The origin of The Bro Sip.

A History of Bro Sips

A History of Bro Sips

Bro Sip diagrams:

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit B

NEXT WEEK: Behind The Counter, S1 E1!Includes a making-of video and original Vesper sketches! Come behind the scenes with P.O. Vesper and I as we walk you through the visual Terrible Delicatessen's origins and processes. Docendo discimus.

You Will Always Be A Dogbot

Everything I’m going to do I’ve done already. Everything I haven’t finished I hadn’t started to begin with. And that’s just the way of things. So I made coffee while I was walking the dogbot whilst sipping the coffee that I’d made yesterday during the time when my dogbot pissed butane out at my leg and onto my Big Toe. I jumped away from it, annoyed, as I slumped on the couch.

“You are BAD! BAD-BAD-GOOD BOY! GOOOOD BOOOY!”

This is what I screamed at my synthetic pet for letting organic liquid loose all over my foot (particularly my Big Toe).  I was conveniently taking a shower in that same moment, so I wasn’t too upset, even though I absolutely was.

Regardless of what Strange Dew—that’s my dogbot, don’t you know—squirted onto my low-limbs, I was completely happy with myself, albeit totally fucking miserable.

Strange Dew was clean-shaven with a long beard and people on the grassy bio-block would always notice this. They’d shout things like “Hey! Look at that smooth-faced dogbot with the long black and/or white beard that hangs down and drags across the muddy, sticky-dry pavement as he/she scuttles quickly at a slow pace!”

Keep it to yourself. Yep. That’s what I’d always scream under my breath. Keep it to yourself.

Conventional Dry Particle—also the dogbot’s name—and I (or You, depending on where you’re standing) were on our way to the local dogbot factory, which also functioned as the international morgue for dogbots. It all happens here, but not much goes on most days.

I’m serious!

It was raining inside, cool and dewy (yes, I know), which was fine because the two of us were equally outside where the both of us sweat like female dogs that are in season to mate and have babies.

I took Strange Dew/Conventional Dry Particle into that sun-shower of a birthing room and watched her (or him, depending on the time of day) die. I don’t know why I did this, aside from the fact that I knew that it positively needed to happen. I had no choice and limitless alternatives, so you see where I’m coming from, don’t you?

I looked at the tightly squinted eyes that were wide open and realized that at the end of the day, which is also when the cock roosts or something, that no matter what time it is, or whichever ground you choose to stand on you’ll always be a dogbot.

It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?

For further reading on multiverses and simultaneous realitiesgo here.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 7.22.13

Kreemie Dunbar is a writer with no money. He pays the bills by working at an awful, awful deli. Gary will stop at nothing to make something of himself in this world. Which is why he ate all the rye chips.

7.22.13

NEXT WEEK: Double-sized strip! Kreemie goes to the gym and feels more or less inadequate! Gary flexes and acts like he uses Icopro! Macte animo! Generose puer sic itur ad astra!

Asinine Beliefs I Held As A Small Child

As a young boy I was rather insane. There were a handful of world views I held (and thankfully dropped) until the age of seven or so. Here is a short list.

  • I used to believe that it was possible to pick up a girlfriend or a wife at The Girlfriend Shop. I wasn't sure where it was located, but the three-year-old Justin knew it existed. It was probably somewhere in North Jersey. After I'd seized my woman I was convinced she would bore me three boys. I planned to name them Tommy, Joey and Dopey.
  • I thought "skim milk" was called "skin milk" and used to think it did wonders for my four-year-old skin. "Grandma, come feel my hands! They're so soft!"
  • I was under the impression that in a movie theatre the lights were to be kept on at all times. The first flick I almost saw was Return of the Care Bears, though we had to leave early because I kept screaming "Hey! Hey! Who turned out the lights?!?"
  • I was convinced that a giant fountain at a local mall was my grandfather from another planet. Anytime I'd go to the mall I say "Hello, Grandpa" in my head. I was telepathically communicating with the indoor geyser. Really glad I didn't share that with anyone at the time.
  • I used to think Poison were cool and The Grateful Dead were terrifying. That "Touch of Grey" video gave me the creeps. I suppose Poison were just less threatening because they looked like a bunch of Moms.
  • I'm pretty positive my first sexual feelings occurred for my Storm action figure. I suppose I got to second base pretty early if I'm allowed to count the foxy Ororo Munroe as my first hookup. My asinine belief was that she was my girlfriend.

That's all I can think of. I don't know why I thought about these things. I'm not sure where the ideas came from. They just happened and I remember them vividly. Alright, bye.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 7.15.13

Kreemie Dunbar is a writer with no money. He pays the bills by working at an awful, awful deli. Gary's Monday Morning Miasma is extra rank. Why and how? Because he went dancing and got lucky! That's why and how!

7.15.13

NEXT WEEK: You never want to be That Guy. You should know this. Homo homini lupus est.

On Repeat

Have you ever said something to yourself  over and over throughout the span of a day? Maybe it's a line from a movie or a television show, or maybe it's something funny your friend said. Have you done this? Have you ever repeated that phrase like a shitty mantra? I've done this since I was a kid, usually when no one is around. I'm not sure why I do it. It's an amusing tic that always results in me laughing like a total moron in an empty room. Today, for some reason, I can't stop saying "My name... is Hikaru Sulu." with George Takei's rich baritone. I try hard to match his octave register. In my head it's spot on, though I'm sure it's atrocious and embarrassing to someone else's ear. I was just making lunch and probably said it 15 times. What's my problem?

"My name... is Hikaru Sulu."

I did it again, out loud. And now I'm laughing.

Happy Anyday.

Javros Doesn’t Understand The Plights of Others

Javros sighed at Mala. “Why do you let it sit with us when it doesn’t eat?”

“You know that’s just how things are for now. That’s the way they have to be with her.” Mala was worn out, tired from Javros’ badgering. “And it’s a ‘she’. You know this.”

“OK, well she doesn’t talk. She don’t even eat! What does she do?”

“Why are you acting out like this? What’s your issue tonight?”

“My issue is that we’ve been takin’-a care of this thing for four months, Mala! When will you take-a responsibility for it?!“ Thick white spit and crumbs of cod spattered out from Javros’ mouth and onto the dinner table.

“Unbelievable.” Mala pushed her chair away from the table.

“And now you-a leaving?”

“Yes. Now ‘I’m-a leaving’.”

“Don’t make-a fun of me. Where you goin’?” Javros’ question wasn’t rooted in insecurity, but in concern. He was sincerely curious.

Mala didn’t respond. She walked out of the kitchen and up the small staircase to her bedroom. Javros’ heard the door shut close from upstairs.

He looked over at the massive green being sitting to the left of him. He craned his neck upwards and to the right so that he could see her face.

“You look-a like one of them aliens on those old Earth TV shows.”

The large, olive-colored figure stared ahead into the empty space of the living room. Her hairless head knocked gently against the lamp above the table. She heard Javros speak, understanding none of it. She wasn’t there.

Javros looked away from the being. He shifted his seat so that he could catch a glimpse of the television that sat under the cabinets.

He shoveled a hunk of cod into his mouth. He chewed slowly and with his mouth open; the sound from his mouth was very similar to the sound of someone trudging through a swamp.

Javros raised the volume on the television. He adjusted it with his mind.

“Approximately 2,000 more émigrés arrived today at Commonwealth Isle. These refugees, like most others over the course of this past month, come from lower Jord. Citizens of Commonwealth Isle are expected to report to the Provisional Emigré offices at the beginning of next week to sign off on housing at least one more refugee.”

The oversized other-worlder still sat in a catatonic trance. A few moments later she passed wind, violently. Brown and green excreta dripped down her long leg and onto the kitchen floor.

Javros stared at the alien for five seconds. He then looked straight ahead and shoveled the last piece of cod into his mouth.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 7.8.13

Kreemie Dunbar is a writer with no money. He pays the bills by working at an awful, awful deli. Kreemie questions what it is to be an adult in this week's quasi-Künstlerroman comic strip. Also, action figures!

7.8.13

 

NEXT WEEK: Gary goes dancing! Elephantem saltare doces.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 7.1.13

Kreemie Dunbar is a writer with no money. He pays the bills by working at an awful, awful deli. Subjects broached in this week's strip: 5K Marathons, bucket lists, the dictums of Winston Churchill, ennui.  Plus Gary chows down on a Sloppy Joe. Honestly, what more could you want?

Enjoy it.

7.1.13

NEXT WEEK: Is Kreemie a grown-up? How much of an adult is Gary, really? And while we're at it, what's your deal? Who are you right now?  Get all quasi-existentialist with next week's strip. Quem di diligunt, adulescens moritur.

 

 

Terrible Delicatessen -- 6.24.13

Kreemie Dunbar is a writer with no money. He pays the bills by working at an awful, awful deli. Are pitbulls telepathic? How often do Muscley 'Roid Guys order double salami on their sangwiches? Will Kreemie ever stop passing judgement on customers? All the important questions are posed in this week's strip. Enjoy it, patrons.

6.24.13

NEXT WEEK: Kreemie wants to run a 5K. Gary tells us what he thinks about bucket lists. Abyssus abyssum invocat.

Terrible Delicatessen -- 6.17.13

Kreemie Dunbar is a writer with no money. He pays the bills by working at an awful, awful deli. Kreemie waxes and whinges on about the death of Western arts. Gary makes him eat crow and condiments.

What a great boss.

6.17.13

NEXT WEEK: Kreemie mouths off to Muscley 'Roid Guy and his pitbull. Funny ensues. Que sera, sera.