I’m a fan of Girls with Slingshots. (The comic by Danielle Corsetto, that is. Though the metaphorical concept is pretty groovy too.)

The comic has a lot of things going for it. The art isn’t just competent – it is alive, and dynamic, and doesn’t get the job done so much as bribe your mind into following it wherever it wants you to go. It’s a slice-of-life comic with a touch of magical realism, and manages to combine the two without feeling like a betrayal of the premise. The humor is certifiably witty. The characters all dauntingly unique. It even has a snazzy cast page and well-organized archive!

What I like best, though, isn’t any one of those elements. What gets me every time is simply how skillfully they are woven together. The specific element that has prompted today’s post is how well the strip handles transition.

Monday’s strip involved our protaganist Hazel detailing the consistency and jiggle factor of her “luscious” ass. Last Friday’s strip featured a heartfelt moment of love between two friends. The strip before that involved a shouting match between their talking pet cacti.

Today’s strip has Hazel confronting a past that has been hovering over her since the strip began.

Having both comedy and drama – sure, that’s all well and good. I like it – in many of my favorite strips, I practically expect it. But being able to move so smoothly between the two? Being able to hop between the two not just from one story-arc to the next, but one strip to the next? Between panels?

Damn, girl. 

Maybe that’s what makes the strip feel so natural. Life doesn’t come into nicely compartmentalized little boxes for our convenience – it’s a jumble of everything all at once.

So yeah. Girls with Slingshots. Damn good comic. It’s down to earth, funny as hell and manages to capture all the little ups and downs of everyday life without ever taking itself too seriously.

A lot like life itself, I guess.