I… i don’t know how to actually write this post because i…. i have no words.
There are few words ever conceived that can possibly explain this.
Among those few would be “utter, Cthulhu-level, blubbering madness”. Thus today’s post is brought to you by the letters w, t, and f.
.
Yes, you just saw that. No, you cannot unsee it.
Let me start by assuring you that no one, no human being even approaching the definition of mildly sane can answer the question ‘Why?’. I understand that if you have a vague belief in an ordered universe where any kind of meaning exists, your entire sense of it is crumbling around you. But before you spiral completely into your existentialist crisis, let’s examine this psychiatric carnival of hysterical derangement disguised as a comic book.
A war has destroyed all of Earth’s oil. How will we possibly power anything now? Sarah Palin steps up to suggest steam. The villains of the book, Big Oil and Big Nuke blow her up as well as Obama. A secret group of scientist patriotics spend the next 6 months transforming her into a cyborg. Powered by steam.
Please. Stop crying. I know… i know…. but shhhhh. Just pull yourself together. We haven’t even shown you the actual comic panels yet.
Yes. Obama is brought back too as Robama.
No, i don’t know what to tell you about those breasts other then i hope they installed a cyborg, metallic back brace for the poor woman.
Now you can cry. No… please don’t scream…. don’t…. stop screaming or i will forced to show you more.
.
Soooooooooooooo… Steampunk Cyborg Sarah and Robama and…. is that John McCain with a robot arm? Why, yes it is, Starling. Yes it is. Can you hear the lambs crying now, Clarice?
Okay… this next panel is one of my favorites.
Wait for it…
wait for it….
.
Okay, i’ll give that one a couple of awesome points in an “as long as we’re in wonderland we might as well just embrace batshitness” kind of way.
Hang on, we’re almost done and you can go drink yourself into a merciful oblivion in hopes that enough tequila, administered swiftly will erase this from your battered consciousness.
Who is this mysterious Mr. Greenhouse? If you think hard enough this should be a no brainer.
Al Gore! DUH.
.
Don’t… just don’t try to make sense of it. Really. You have not stared into the face of madness like this before. No one can and come back unscathed.
There, there. It’s okay. You can cry now. Just, before you collect yourself and try to carry on with your day, just gaze at this one last pic from the Heart Of Batshitland.
.
That is all.
