“Each comic has the sting of a dirty joke whispered into your ear from your boozehound uncle at a St. Patrick’s Day party. Sure, it seems offensive but they’re just tasteless enough to induce groans and gasps rather than pure gorge-rising bile explosions from less sensitive artists. Latta’s shocks are quick and guilt-free. Nothing is safe. But the horror passes and fades. And perhaps that’s why each cartoon is superimposed on a cocktail napkin. – there is a keen awareness that each comic is only a sweaty hi-ball glass away from being wrapped around a used cherry stem and tossed into the trash after last call.”
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