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Lizz Lunney

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Page 45 Review by Stephen

At the laptop:

"I can relate!
"I can so relate!
"Ha ha oh boy I relate!"

Outside:

"I just don't relate to anyone."

There's a word for this, isn't there? Otaku, I think.

Some of us are sliding into self-sequestration, living our lives only online - or at least presenting a vague approximation of them. Or lying through our teeth. Don't think that eludes Lizz Lunney, either: the veneer, I mean. I've seen some pretty gleeful holiday postcards written teeth-clenched in anger. I guess I'm not easy to get along with.

I wish more people could empathise online: there'd be far fewer angry and ill-informed knee-jerks, and a lot less click-bait. That's what comes from staring at a screen all day. You couldn't get so furiously steamed if you were out strolling in the Cotwolds, could you? We were probably socially doomed from the day we stopped hunting and gathering.

The creator of AT THE THEME PARK, STREET DAWGZ: BOX LIFE, TAKE AWAY etc is back, back, back with big batch of full-colour, one-page comics you all can relate to. So long as you're a socially awkward, cripplingly self-conscious, over-thinking, agoraphobic, responsibility-shirking, neurotic wreck. Like the sun. Why do you think it keeps going in?

Some physical conditions are more easily treated by the doctor. Well, more easily prescribed.

"I'll prescribe these painkillers for your back. The side effects are nausea, dizziness, financial difficulties, stress and death."
"But will my back be pain free?"
"No guarantees."

Lizz Lunney laughter is pain relief of the most efficacious order. It's a tonic, laced with gin; a potion of a notion which you can administer like lotion and bring a broad grin to your face. It's like physiotherapy for the soul. Although your ears may prove another matter:

"Doctor, I've caught Copacabana..." had me cackling with laughter until I realised it was a pretty serious condition whose cure quite literally sounds worse.

I don't know if Lizz has realised she stopped drawing cats years ago. They look more like blanched devils or demons. Oh, cats, then.

"I can leave the house in this weather without covering myself in Factor 50."
"Why does it smell so sweet? That's... that's sun cream not ice cream!"
"Oh! Did I say Factor 50? I meant pistachio."

Of course you did.

It's the gleefully absurd delivered deadpan.

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