Before Dad’s had a chance to draw you on anything politically sensitive you’ve lunged for a safe place – the unrivaled banality and perplexingly uneventful adventures of cartoon dunder-mutt Fred Basset. And you’ve struck gold – today’s is a fucking corker.
“Hahahahahahaha! GOOD OLD FRED!” you shout, hooting and thigh-slapping your approval. You pass the paper round the table so that your dinner companions can share your mirth. Each of them force a little weak smile, until it reaches your father.
He reads, and rereads the strip several times to try and ascertain what the merry old fuck the point of it is. What could he be missing? He’s been skipping Fred Basset since 1976, it never makes any sense. There’s a dog in it in the first panel and a dog in the last one, and in-between people come and go and none of it actually appears to be of any consequence whatsoever. He tried concentrating on it for a five-week stint once to see if there was any kind of story arc. Was there bollocks. And yet here the family are, all seemingly terribly amused by the flea-bitten flap-eared bellend.
While Dad’s pondering you have the chance to make your escape! Do you exit to the: