Who is that “dangerous clown” lurking in the woods on the cover of the New Yorker, like “a cartoon villain, infantile and strange,” in the words of New Yorker cover artist Carter Goodrich. His pumpkin-colored head is topped by a swoop of yellow hair, his sinister grin reveals a mouthful of sharklike teeth, and his tiny hand dangles as if to grab a passerby and snatch his … health care coverage.
“I’m still just as stunned now as I was a year ago, on election night,” says Goodrich, who over the years has drawn assorted monsters for the magazine, including hysterical movie stars on Oscar night, the millennium as a gargantuan alien trampling the skyline and a hulking bouncer guarding the velvet rope at a kid’s birthday party. But there’s been nothing like the “national nightmare” he believes we’re now living in — and that won’t end on Halloween.
it's difficult to effectively parody the man: everything about him is low hanging fruit. He's already a walking, talking cartoon of himself pic.twitter.com/vclmG0x8Jp
— Carter Goodrich (@Cartergoodrich2) October 23, 2017
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