Whatta Ja' Do This Time?

Apparently by January 1979 it was already time to do some revision work. The circled 1 in the upper right corner tells us with chilling horror that this is indeed a reboot of THE JOHNSON FOLLIES. Here we see Greg sharper, edgier, grittier. Also, he talks like Christian Bale for some reason. 

As the rabid typhoid fanboy reader will certainly recall, the previous incarnation of THE JOHNSON FOLLIES began with Greg riding the airport escalator into our hearts--but this time instead of trying to find his family, he's trying to get away from them, specifically his brothers. And only one month separates the two cartoons! It must have been the Christmas holiday season that year. Or a rash of giant Tinkertoy beatings.

 



 

Now harboring delusions and pretentions that I was doing a Dark Knight, I started penciling and inking my masterpieces first. Another delightful innovation was the random bolding of text.

 

By panel 4 Greg frets that the brothers he had so callously and zag-mouthedly gotten rid of would never find him in this "messy" airport. By messy, he must mean the gray foggy soup with the faces floating in it. Maybe it was a haunted airport? But you'd think with the penciling first I'd have done a little more with the backgrounds. Where are the Sbarros and Starbucks and the Great American T-Shirt Cake Factorys??

 

Yeah, the backgrounds kinda suck. But, to be fair, I was in eighth grade then: I was BUSY.



After squirting sweat all over fellow airport commuters, Greg starts to get concerned that his rid-worthy brothers have tattled on him. So concerned indeed that his body splits in two like cellular metosis and makes him angry from all the chromosomal sharing.*

 

 

Being a jerkwad brother, I react to Chris poignantly calling out for me in a crowded, messy, ghost-filled airport by popping him a good one in the mouf. POW! Yeah, take that, considerate brother! And while you're at it get me a Sbarro thin slice! POW!

 

 

Mark then straddles his fallen sibling like a conquering hero and asks the question all readers everywhere burn with: whatta ja' do this time? But worry not, reader. Three wise ghosts appear, mustachioed, bearded and spectacled (hence the wisdom), and determine that Chris's heart is beating. Excellent! The fractured cheekbone, broken teeth and internal bleeding? Ehn. They're wisemen not doctors. Jeesh. 

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* I know lots of science! Just ask my bunson burner!