From 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!
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It’s another night at the Peculier sic Pub, where the conversation can start with a philosophical debate about God’s existence and morph into a discussion about homicidal robots. In Rosenberg’s first compilation of his long-running Web comic, Goats, no topic is too risqué for the pub’s glib patrons Jon and Phillip and their assorted pals, who include androgynous, gray-skinned-alien lovers Neil and Bob, and Diablo, a red-crested rooster. With the aim of lending Jon and Phillip’s geeky misadventures the flavor of an evolving narrative, Rosenberg here supplements the original three-panel strips with new material. In one story thread, Jon and Phillip borrow their alien friends’ flying saucer and make a beeline for the galactic core to meet God himself. In another, Diablo clones himself to produce a foul-mouthed, yellow chick who unleashes a chainsaw-wielding robot at a Web comics convention. Every vignette features Rosenberg’s predilection for satiric jabs at mainstream culture; and though there may be more misses than hits in the punch-line department, the Goats gang’s shameless shenanigans are highly addictive. --Carl Hays