I realized with this one that the entire reason I was hanging on to the Preacher series was the Saint of Killers. Otherwise, this was just a series of weird tales designed to shock with their violence and depravity (and I don't mean that in any puritan sense, I mean what with all the incest-jokes and gross-out drawings), with no real substance outside that. The Saint of Killers only briefly shows up in this one, and that just ain't enough for me. I'm giving up on this series.
And SERIOUSLY? Laurel and Hardy are better than Charlie Chaplin? Are you STONED, Garth Ennis?