Chapter 2, "Soup's On"

You know, if I sleep through breakfast, my mother doesn't sit around all morning and wait for me to get up. She just goes about her business.

"Lift up the Lord." Sound like a dance craze that didn't quite catch on.

I shudder to think what "Lifting up the Lord" at a hair dresser would entail.

"What does he think I am?" I am almost afraid to ask.

The Lord appreciates a clean house.

Ye Gods! I'll freely admit, I can let the dishes go for some time. But this family is full of pigs! Is that a cracked egg shell on the counter there? Are they knowingly trying to culture salmonella?

That vacuum cleaner is pretty awesome, I guess.

Mark has adopted the face of a japanese blow up doll. Or maybe this thing. Yikes.

The dresser has the "crosshatched ether" look to it as well. The longer this goes on, the more I start to think Chick only had one set of shading sheets and is recycling them mercilessly.

That "D" says it all.

"I wouldn't mind bringing my friends home now! Unless his parents had been given unexpected lobotomies, I'd still harbor a few hesitations on that one.

Sandy is always either smiling uncontrollably or scowling viciously. She has no middle range what so ever.

The wonky legs and overbite make Brad look like he's going all Lampwick on us. Or maybe Torgo.

Helen's obviously had a hard day at the hair dressers.

Helen's got the flu, and judging by this panel, Mark has suddenly been struck with Down Syndrome.

"I feel sick, Mark." We can all sympathise Helen. Believe you me.

Sandy looks Spanish, or even Japanese here.

I think she's turning Japanese... I really think so.

Why does he ask Mark, anyway?

Yeah, Frank. Lay off her! She had a trying day at the hair dresser. What did you do, besides go to work and earn the sole paycheck to support this perverse House of Lies?!?!

Mark just suddenly got a great deal "nobler" looking. Also... Helen has NEVER been sick before? You know, when my parents couldn't or didn't want to cook, we'd usually just order a pizza.

WHHHAAARRR-GAAARRRBLE!!!!

I don't think I've ever been that angry about anything in my entire life. And I've been through high school. His eyes are about to pop out of his head.

This reminds me of that guy from Scanners, where Michael Ironside makes his head explode. That would have been a preferable outcome to the rest of this comic.

Jesus Christ: saver of souls, scrambler of eggs.

"Uhh... yeah, Mark. That TOTALLY doesn't have anything to do with anything."

"I don't know how to make a salad..." Jesus...

Salad frightens and confuses him.

The devil's work, you say!!!

Like a can-opener. A giant, proseletizing can-opener. Also, I'm trying to figure out what that thing says. "Accucl?"

This dinner must be important. If God opened up the good china and all. Ba-Dump Chhh.

So wait... watching bloody executions helps one learn to cook? Or is there some other connection here I'm not seeing that makes that detail relevent to the story here? You know, a six-course meal is a lot of food for anyone but a gourmand. When I was a kid I was happy with a sandwich or a bowl of mac and cheese.

"He was God's man of the hour..." then God kicked his ass to the curb!

Flowers! Insane! Next thing you'll say is that I should be nice to her!

Mark's cooking lessons must be working. Frank is already transforming into the Swedish Chef. Børk, børk, børk.

This is the first panel in which Billy has looked marginally human.

Don't get too attached to it. It fades fast.

You telling me that lazy old git can't get her own pillows. Jeez! It's the flu. Not Polio!

Frank doesn't understand, and neither does anyone else. Is anybody else wondering if Mark's Bible verses are just the ramblings of early Alzheimers?

Gee, Frank doesn't understand. What a shocker. I'm starting to think Frank is functionally retarded. That "office" he goes to everyday is like some sort of Adult Daycare Center. "Mommy doesn't let me make the salad... <drool>..."

Actually, in the real world, hollow guestures can get you pretty far.

And Frank, for the love of all that is holy keep those monster jowls of yours out of the soup. I worked hard on that shit!

He's practically choking on his words. "Showing any sort of affection for you, you ugly hag, is making me ill."

Just a pet peeve... if you say "I'm speechless," then you clearly aren't.

Compare this with panel number one of this chapter. Also, he put as much effort into that flower as into everything else combined.

This one act of guilt-tripped, insincere kindless has made me forget about all the yelling, and beating and burning with cigarettes. I REALLY love that man. Denial is an ugly, ugly thing. Thanks for doing your part, Mark.