Archive for the 'Apartment 3-G' Category

Mark Trail, 11/18/09

Here’s a question for you: am I spoiled by Mark Trail? I mean, yes, this is the sort of wordless action strip that makes the feature worth reading, and yes, Mark has waded into the swamp to deliver a crushing blow to an alligator’s mouth, without regard for his personal safety, in order to save his mutant ward’s whiny little dog. I should just be able to sit back and enjoy it! And yet … well, he’s not using his fists, is he? He’s using a tool to do his fighting for him. Sure, for an ordinary human punching an alligator would be a recipe for certain death, but Mark is not ordinary, and may not even be human. When his violent righteousness turns on the poachers, as it inevitably will, will Mark think, “Hey, I am already holding this stick! It helped me beat the alligator — maybe it will help me defeat these men as well!” And once there’s an intermediary object between Mark and his targets, well, it’s all downhill from there. The next think you know, he’ll be suing them, or writing angry letters to the editor about their misdeeds.

Gil Thorp, 11/18/09

Today is the day that reveals the true shape of Gil Thorp’s football season B-plot: it’s Cyrano de Bergerac, if Cyrano were a band geek, and instead of feeding love poetry to Christian he just gave him recaps of high-school volleyball games, and while watching the whole drama you kept waiting for the action to switch back to Christian’s teammate’s brother in prison. Still, I have a feeling that Valerie will learn that the person who really enjoyed watching her play volleyball was a slightly cross-eyed clarinet player, and true love will blossom at last!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/18/09

You know, I really and truly would have been delighted if the whole Becka-Tim side story ended up being entirely tangental to the plot, with Cue successfully negotiating the return of the wayward oldsters with the crooked nursing home operator while Becka fended off Tim’s ham-handed advances. But now it appears that the two narrative threads will finally meet, so I’m hoping that the fisticuffs between the exceptionally dim small-time marijuana dealer and the socially awkward fishing magazine writer will at least be kind of hilarious.

Apartment 3-G, 11/18/09

“Kitchen staff” no doubt sets alarm bells off in Ari’s head. “Wait, she used to be rich, and now the only person she can afford to exploit to get her meds is me? Danger, danger!”

(By the way, if you’re trying woo a pill-popper with rice pudding in actual New York, might I suggest Rice to Riches at 37 Spring Street in Manhattan? YUMMY!)

Apartment 3-G, 11/12/09

Dr. Pappagoras is cheerfully pressing on with his campaign to win the Most Unethical Therapist statuette at this years Psychie Awards! Most head-shrinkers I know (and I was raised by several) do not consider it a “nice surprise” when their goofball-addled patients show up at their office without an appointment and with some bullshit story about, you know, just being in the neighborhood, just wandering around the block seven or forty times in the rain and thinking about pills pills pills PILLS PILLS PILLS. I was originally going to come up with some joke here about transference and countertransference, but then I realized that strictly speaking those phenomena only arise in the course of actual patient/therapist relationships, and not in drug-seeker/quack-doctor-who-wants-to-bone-drug-seeker relationships.

Pluggers, 11/12/09

Speaking of pills, it’s nice to see that pluggers aren’t waiting for some government bailout to pull them out of their tough economic times. Police looking for the distributors bringing insane amounts of black-market oxycodone into the county will never suspect the simple, down-home chicken lady!

Dennis the Menace, 11/12/09

“Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away. Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” –Matthew 5:38-44

So, apparently Dennis has been sent to Earth by his Father to teach us about peace, and then die for our sins. This … this is not very menacing at all.

Six Chix, 11/11/09

I suppose the joke of this strip is that our MC is admonishing not the audience but the actors on the necessity of turning of their cell phones, because HAW HAW THE KIDS TODAY AND THE CELL PHONES, amiright? But I’m frankly much more interested in the historic and dramaturgical significance of the largish cane being brandished by pilgrim #1 on the far left. Will he be swinging it about over the course of the show’s dance numbers, including “(The Church Ought To Be Organized On A) Congregationalist Model,” “My Goodness But I Am Very Hungry,” and “A Buckle On My Hat — What’s That About?” Or is it a vaudeville-style hook, to be used to drag off the lady pilgrim (for displaying the Sin of Pride by wearing whorish non-black-and-white clothes) or the Native American (for using all the good land)?

Apartment 3-G, 11/11/09

This is why you shouldn’t hire an aspiring Hollywood screenwriter as your PI, as he’s always trying to force the messiness of real life into his preconceptions of narrative entertainment. “Just think about it, Bobbie: what aging man doesn’t at some level yearn to recapture his lost youth via a tryst with a younger woman? And what wife doesn’t secretly worry that she won’t keep her husband’s attention as she gets older? The older, sophisticated audience we’re reaching for here will all be able to relate. And, I mean, check out the framing on these pics — see how the streetlamp serves as a spotlight on the secret lovers, isolating them in an island of illumination against a sea of darkness, symbolizing the way the whole world fades away when they’re together? It’s box office gold, baby! And once I figure out what the emotionally devastating denouement is going to be, I can guarantee that it’ll be Oscar time.” Instead, you should seek out experimental filmmakers in the tradition of Andrei Tarkovsky or Bela Tarr, who aren’t afraid to point their camera at the subject of investigation and just film his everyday activities for hours at a time.

Crock, 11/11/09

I was going to complain that Grossie’s comeback made little to no sense, but then I remembered that in the ever-shifting poorly drawn hell-world of Crock, one cannot count on one’s facial features or body parts remaining symmetrical, so it’s fully possible that “Sexy” Crock Lady Character Whose Name I Forget might from time to time have legs of wildly varying lengths or widths. But this is a universe where kneeless leg-stumps might be considered someone’s “best feature,” so I’m not sure if the punchline here is really an insult per se.

Apartment 3-G, 11/5/09

Oh, man, apparently Tommie really isn’t familiar with I Dressed In The Dark, or with the reality TV genre in general, or with the sort of thing that normal humans enjoy as entertainment. If she were, she’d know that she should be jerking about spasmodically for the camera here, clowning it up for the people at home; if she must express negative feelings, they should be big negative feelings, with ostentatious, theatrical bawling. Instead, she’s just looking directly into the camera, and, with a flat expression and eerily affectless voice, describing the terrible emotional desert through which a cruel God has cursed her to wander, like the Israelites, but not as well dressed. I’m assuming that the cameraman is only managing to hold that microphone up through sheer professionalism, and will soon be quietly weeping. Tommie should very much not be allowed on television.

Mary Worth, 11/5/09

Ha ha, look, Adrian is already trying to squirm out of the drunken promises she made to Scott when she thought he was in a coma and couldn’t hear her. Now they’re getting married when he’s “better.” “Adrian, I’m back on my feet and back on the job, and the doctor says that these scars from the bullet wounds are pretty much permanent, so…” “Scott, please! You know I can’t marry a man with any sort of disfigurement! You’ll make sure they heal, if you really love me.”

Gil Thorp, 11/5/09

Congrats to Gil Thorp for depicting what most scientists agree to be the douchiest high-five possible there in panel two. Meanwhile, the parallelism of the two cafeteria scenes leaves one to contemplate the question: where’s a worse place to eat lunch, high school or prison? Your fellow inmates are more likely to shiv you, but at least they won’t stoop to lying about going to your volleyball game.

Dennis the Menace, 11/5/09

I’m sorry, Dennis, this is a game attempt to work within this strip’s restricted ambit of bad behavior, but good manners are never menacing.

B.C., 11/5/09

Ha ha, you see, because one of them wants to kill her, and one of them wants to have sex with her! Women, am I right? They’re like prey animals!

Beetle Bailey, 11/5/09

Honest to God, anyone who opens a gay bar named “McGooey’s” on the outskirts of a US Army base will get free advertising on this site for a year.

Family Circus, 11/4/09

The presence of Dolly in the background takes this Family Circus panel beyond this feature’s usual run-of-the-mill “Jeffy is a moron” territory. When you consider Dolly’s well-known and well-earned contempt for her brother, it seems unlikely that she’d be helping him search for his shoes; thus, I must conclude that all shoes in the Keane Kompound have been confiscated, possibly as a result of the suspiciously absent Billy’s successful escape. Barfy’s sad facial expression indicates that he knows what the kids don’t: even if you get across the half-mile of burning sand, you’ll just end up at the electric fence.

Pluggers, 11/4/09

Pluggers are so hard up for cash that they can only afford “choklit”, which, being made mostly from petroleum byproducts, doesn’t have an expiration date.

Archie, 11/4/09

Mr. Weatherbee’s anger masks his shame at almost being caught surfing for Mr. Weatherbee porn while at work.

Mary Worth, 11/4/09

“That’s right, you don’t have any regrets about your love life, do you Jeff? Jeff? Put down that coffee mug and look at me when I talk to you!”

Apartment 3-G, 11/4/09

OH OH WAIT SHE NEVER HAD ONE OF THOSE

Apartment 3-G, 10/31/09

So Bobbie Merrill has spent the week angrily thought-ballooning while wandering through a suspiciously all-female Manhattan street scene, and today we learn the reason for the setting: she’s accidentally wandered into the crazed mob desperate to debase themselves on the humiliation-TV hit I Dressed In The Dark, a cultural phenomenon that Bobbie treats with richly deserved contempt. It’s hilarious to me that a character willing to offer up a “gift basket” (if you know what I mean) (and I think you do) to a portly middle-aged head-shrinker in return for prescription sleeping pills still turns out to have more dignity than Ruby and Tommie. Sorry, lady, Bobbie won’t be having any of what you’re selling, even though you work for “TV.”

Family Circus, 10/31/09

You might have expected the demonic holiday of “Halloween” to have been completely banned over at the Keane Kompound, but in fact Billy’s parents have dressed him up as the most terrifying thing they can think of: Daylight Saving Time, which is obviously a conspiracy by the U.N. and the Trilateral Commission to undermine American sovereignty and impose One World Government.

Gasoline Alley, 10/31/09

In the latest easily ignorable Gasoline Alley storyline, centenarian strip patriarch Walt Wallet and his caretaker Gertie went to a concert, only to be separated in a series of non-hilarious hijinks. Today’s strip is notable, however, because it appears to imply that it would really save everyone a lot of trouble if Walt were to take himself to the cemetery before dropping dead.