You look happy.
I went on a date!
You mean you made eye contact with a stranger.
Do you want to know a secret?
You dress like a weirdo on purpose?! You are secretly a dude?!
Never mind. *sobs*
Poor Timothy he doesnt half set himself up! He also sends himself up, over and over again, for everyone elses pleasure in these daily delivered and determinedly silly short sketches. For thats what this is: a quick-fire sketch-show drawn with all the smile-inducing minimalism of the great Matt Feazell himself. Its guest-stars include some decidedly wonky wizards, Toby, a gay green dinosaur with the most luckless love life in the world, and Christina, a slice of sentient toast.
Toby, how do you eat so much cake
and stay so slim?
Well, I guess dinosaurs have fast metabolisms.
What a Jurassic Perk!
Ha! It is indeed an eye-rolling exercise in the most painful punnery imaginable. As you can imagine, therefore, I am an unapologetic addict. It features cake (a great deal of cake), fashion (I use that term loosely or, in fact, abusively), magic, a morphing blob of mucus-coloured, mean-spirited goo, and a commendably undaunted determination to find our troubled Toby a boyfriend. I dont know why its so difficult: hes the loveliest person in here. Alas, the tears they flow directly down like Niagara Falls unfettered by those crazy rock formations.
Theres also the odd flock of flying Caticorns: uni-horned cats with tails the colours of the San Francisco rainbow. Timothy gave me one as a sew-on patch. I promptly stuck it in my jeans back pocket where the poor thing has been nuzzling my left cheek for a week. It doesnt look very happy. No Brony points for me, then!
This lemon-yellow lovely comes signed and sketched in and for the moment at least with a free, full-colour mini-comic called TOBYS FIRST ZINE. Its not his first zine: we stocked that many moons ago, and its cover is reproduced in the back of the book itself along with ten other long-lost pleasures as part of the Secrets and Extras.
It is instead a cry-worthy catalogue of some of the 500-odd beastly boyfriends who have ditched our all-dating, ever-doting dinosaur over the many years. Its like The Flight Of The Concords Carol Brown (
There must be 50 ways my lovers have left me
) only with an extra dimension of diversity because the only thing these heartless hunks have in common is their gender. There are many
species to speak of. Some which must never be mentioned again.
Poor Timothy I mean, Toby!