Collecting three runs from Walt Kelly's Pogo comic strip from the summers of 1952, 1956, and 1960; each book ends with the denizens of the swamp failing to get to the convention (which convention? any and all) to nominate their man, or rather possum. Pogo is the most reluctant of candidates, as befits the still-center-of-the-spinning-world which being the good and decent title character in a knockabout satire of venality, ignorance, pomposity, and appetite requires.
Kelly's political satire is at once the most instantly-dated thing about Pogo and, for US history nerds, the most wonderful playground of referentiality, misdirection, and generalized wisdom (and sometimes bunkum). Since this is from the first decade of the strip's run, none of the really tiresome geopolitical analogues that turn much of the later 60s into a slog for the uninitiated show up, and Kelly weaves his shaggy-dog sociopolitical satire — Communist cowbirds infiltrate a Boy Scout troop made up of hobo-bats gone straight-ish; a rabbit living in a grandfather clock goes on strike against himself; a boy insect who never says anything but "Jes' Fine" is interviewed by self-serious reporters as a candidate for the presidency — into the usual vaudevillian hum and throb of swamplife before getting everyone together for a failed convention-road trip setpiece. You can read current events into it if you want (the boy bug is a shrewd summation of the substance-free, family-assisted Jack Kennedy), but you can also just enjoy it as silliness at a very high level, one damn thing after another that more often than not is still pretty humorous.
When I was a young man reading Pogo collections from the public library, it used to bother me that Kelly's stories never went anywhere, that they were all just shaggy-dog stringalongs resetting like a sitcom with no one having learned a thing. If he'd wanted to, he could have been a very fine storyteller, shaping excellent narratives with his knack for rhythm and composition, not to mention some of the most extensive verbal dexterity ever seen in comics. But he chose to be a columnist rather than a (graphic) novelist, a newspaperman, kidding everything including newspapers, to the end. It's the kind of messy, sprawling life's work that resists tidy summation or deft anthologization, but the world is much richer in line and joke for having had Walt Kelly in it.