One swing trapeze artist prepares to receive a newborn child from another all the while shrieking "Support the head!" A hopeful, naked Adam reaches high for the largest leaf while a frustrated Eve hands him a smaller, more-appropriately sized leaf. A dejected squid stands in a doorway, shock and dismay on his face, as a ruined surprise party lies in wait before him-guests, presents, and birthday cake covered in a blast of ink in mid-"Sur..." as loose balloons butt against the ceiling. Once in generation, a distinctly new perspective emerges from the pages of The New Yorker. In our times, that perspective belongs to Ed Steed. Steeped in the classic formalist tradition of the single-panel gag, Steed possesses a shocking and macabre talent for drawings guaranteed to make even the most composed of casual readers laugh out loud. At times reminiscent of Charles Addams, George Booth, William Steig, Saul Steinberg, and Edward Gorey, the artist defies the blas , urbanite's worldview of the magazine in which his comics appear.