In an era where comics are increasingly treated as prestige intellectual property or slick graphic novels, Sick Puppy Press remains stubbornly, gloriously small . Their comics are sold in zine distros, pinned to corkboards in punk houses, and traded at DIY art markets. They’re printed in runs of 100–300, often assembled by hand over a weekend.
In the sprawling, chaotic ecosystem of underground and alternative comics, most small presses aim for one of two things: polished literary respectability or cultish genre nostalgia. Sick Puppy Press occupies a grimier, more visceral third space—one where the paper is cheap, the ink is smudged, and the humor lands somewhere between a panic attack and a gut laugh. sick puppy press comics
To read a Sick Puppy Press comic is to hold something that could only exist because someone needed to make it—not because it was marketable, not because it was on brand, but because the alternative was not drawing it. That’s the sick puppy ethos: art as nervous system output, not product. In an era where comics are increasingly treated