The Adventures of Pasty McWhiterson

Today's strip got me all riled up. Like Pale Perko, I am one of the whitest, pastiest people around. There's a glare off my legs when I wear shorts. Except for my face, which is ruddy (thanks, German heritage!), and my forearms, which have the faintest of farmers' tans, I am white white white. Frighteningly so.

And Al, do you know what happens when I go to the beach and soak up the sun? If I have on sunscreen--which, duh, some of us want to avoid skin cancer--then I don't really tan. Maybe if I had a nice, long vacation, I would, but if we're talking 3 or 4 days...nope, I remain pasty white. If I go light on the sunscreen, I turn a lovely shade of red. Like, immediately. There's very little in between.

So what's the problem with Pale taking a vacation at the beach? There's something innately relaxing about just being on the beach, hearing the waves, relaxing. Seriously, G. Schiffman from Ft. Lauderdale, shut up. I'm sorry that pasty people who visit your area and refuse to brown themselves somehow offends you.

I like how all the men at the beach seem to be older, paunch-having gentlemen, whereas the two women we see clearly are "knock-outs" (bikinis, styled hair). Well, at least they aren't excessively thin. I just wish Scaduto could've added a could of good-looking men...although, really, I don't think he knows how to draw good-looking men.