Still Life with Taco-Shaped Bed

See it here.

It's been a while since we've seen a Dinette Set in which it's difficult to locate the intent in what otherwise appears to simply be the most boring and pointless conversation ever published in comic form. But that's precisely what we face today. On the surface, all we have is Burl turning down popcorn for the rather obvious reason that its physical characteristics make it an unpleasant food to eat in bed.

So we have to look beneath the surface to find the true intent. In our quest we are aided by the rather conspicuously taco-shaped bed, which is the first clue that leads me to believe that this panel is an examination victomhood. Or, more specifically, embracing one's victimhood as a psychological shield against one's own self-destructive behavior.

Burl is clearly speaking from the experience of being victimized by popcorn in bed when he complains that it makes the bed too itchy. And yet, he does not accept the blame for eating popcorn in bed with predictable results. The blame is reserved for those external items which combine to form an undesirable itchy whole (in this case the popcorn and the bed).

Such is the desire of the modern victim. Eager to embrace the role of victim yet eager to avoid the fact that you are both victim and cause. The panel, however, will not allow Burl to get away with this.

The bed-as-taco metaphor clearly illustrates how Burl and Joy are victims of their own design. On a literal level, gravity migrates crumbs and detritus to the bottom of the taco/bed, the same area which contains Burl and Joy's asses and bellies, making the bed uncomfortable after an evening of binge snacking. On a metaphoric level, Burl and Joy's gluttony migrates fat to their asses and bellies, clogs their arteries, raises their blood pressure and puts them on a trajectory towards early death.

Much as they might like to blame the chocolate, potato chips, popcorn, and shake-n-shakes for their woes, they are ultimately responsible for their own impending death. At which time, the taco-bed can roll them up into a tight little burrito, suitable for burial (providing the pressure-bent legs of the taco-bed are not worn out from the strain of supporting their weight over the years).

For our purposes, the end game can't come soon enough.

Marginalia found in bed several weeks later and guiltily eaten:

• I don't care how innocent the panel is, I never want to look at what goes on in Burl and Joy's bedroom again.
• I think Joy's cup says "Vics," which I am assuming is a lower-class form of Oxycontin or Vicadin. A narcotic sedative for the masses.
• I'm touched that the artist bothered to draw the up/down control, as if concerned we wouldn't figure out what was going on with the mattress otherwise.
• I can't make out what books are in Joy's bed stand. Or are those videos? In which case, I don't want to know what they are.