Overview
It’s not as if one decides to wake up one day, argue existentialism with livestock, and fly a spaceship to the center of the galaxy to meet, greet–and eat–God. It just sort of happens. At least it does in the world of Goats, the cult-hit webcomic wherein a clutch of brave if baffled barflies (including humans, chickens, and a cyborg goldfish) hit the interdimensional bricks to save the multiverse from certain doom kicked off by a cosmic computer glitch. You can’t make this stuff up–unless you’re one of the monkeys tapping on infinite typewriters who controls all reality. You’ll see. . . .
Synopsis
It’s not as if one decides to wake up one day, argue existentialism with livestock, and fly a spaceship to the center of the galaxy to meet, greet–and eat–God. It just sort of happens. At least it does in the world of Goats, the cult-hit webcomic wherein a clutch of brave if baffled barflies (including humans, chickens, and a cyborg goldfish) hit the interdimensional bricks to save the multiverse from certain doom kicked off by a cosmic computer glitch. You can’t make this stuff up–unless you’re one of the monkeys tapping on infinite typewriters who controls all reality. You’ll see. . . .
Publishers Weekly
The first mass-marketed collection of Rosenberg's long-running sci-fi geek-comedy Web comic revels in its own weirdness—it plunges straight into a bar discussion between a chicken, a goat and some aliens, and keeps piling absurdity on absurdity. (“There is one steadfast maxim that I hold dear,” one character notes: “an immortal super intelligent combat-trained zombie cyborg goldfish with a machine gun can have whatever the hell he wants.”) The book's first sequence ends with human protagonists Jon and Phillip convincing God to turn himself into a pork chop, then eating Him. Halfway through this volume, there's a showdown between Good Hitler and the recursive space-cows of Space Hitler, and if you're scratching your head by now, that's probably the desired effect. Fortunately, Rosenberg tends to sneak at least a small punch line into every panel—a couple of quips are already notorious “Goats” T-shirts, like “what part of 'ninja' don't you understand?” Rosenberg's full-color art has a blobby, loony flair to it. And if his storytelling often seems to be afflicted with severe short-attention-span syndrome, its free-associative culture-reference overload lets him get away with gags like a drunken Buddha announcing “Your momma so fat, she travels the noble eightfold path all at once!” (June)