The Arlo Page
Even The New Yorker's
regular cartoonists have
their comics rejected at
times: because they're too
politically incorrect, too
sexual or too gross -- or
for no reason other than
the magazine having more
comics than it needed for
a given issue. This book
collects the comics that
never saw the light of day,
and would probably make
a great gift for anybody
not easily offended.
Needless to say, most people assumed the obvious: that the Pointy Headed Boss was doing a Pee Wee Herman in the boardroom (or someplace else where Catbert had access to a camera) -Bill
Some Potential Arlo Comics You Guys Sent Me
Agnes's last line looks like it belongs on the Arlo page, although in
this comic strip it's difficult to put that interpretation on it.
I really don't know
this strip, but I had to wonder how innocent it was after two people asked
me to explain this one:
... which, by the way, made me laugh out loud (because I am, in so many ways, a 12-year-old).
If you don't get it, pass your mouse over the following line:
David K suggested this:
Janice Rey and
Ted both sent this Zits strip:
which was reminiscent
of this older one:
Wendy: This seems much too sweet for the Arlo Page, but it certainly meets the requirements.
and these two, where the placement doesn't seem to be accidental:
sent this one...
... which I guess could have been far worse -- and definitely more troubling for John -- if the punchline had revolved around this panel:
But this month's clear
winner (sent to me by at least a dozen people, Ted being the first) is:
Ted: Read the comics he's reading. Mommys WHAT! :)
Just a clarification: To be eligible for the Arlo Award, a cartoon can't be merely suggestive or teasingly naughty: There has to be no way the cartoonist can even attempt to deny his intentions
...and please tell me that's not a bulge in his pants...
More strips below the ads...
I was bemused the first time I learned that both 'rock and roll' and 'jazz'
were originally slang
terms for sex. I can well imagine the horror of both the parents of teenagers -- to say nothing of classical music fans -- who might have heard Wolfman Jack back in the sixties shouting into the microphone, "Rachmaninoff and roll forever, bay-buh!" Or maybe we
should let Rob Reiner's mom have the last word about Edda: "I'll have what she's having!"
(That's a baby bottle with a nipple, by the way)