Six Chix, 9/15/16
My favorite thing about this cartoon (or, more accurately, the thing I dislike the least about it) is that the hand emerging from the bottom of the panel could plausibly be assigned to either of the two characters. I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to understand it as the blonde lady rubbing her chin thoughtfully as the brunette’s insane forehead tattoo causes her to completely rethink her opinions on the small conversational pleasantries that serve to lubricate our every day social interactions. But I’d like to believe that in fact tattoo-lady is resting her own fingers seductively on the chin on her interlocutor, as if to say, “Look, you and I both feel the energy between us, so let’s not waste our time with the conversational dance that normal humans use to build up levels of intimacy. Let’s make out. You ever made out with a woman with a bonkers personal philosophy tattooed on her forehead before?”
Judge Parker, 9/15/16
“People will line up for any job. Even if the job involves being locked up in a shipping container doing painful manual labor, even if the job is only open to old people in violation of any number of federal and state labor laws: if you post a job ad in the paper, dozens of desperate people will line up to apply for that job, no questions asked. There’s no story here! Covering this ghastly carnival of economic anxiety is a complete waste of our time as journalists. Ugh, why can’t we go film a war or something important like that?”
Spider-Man barely seems to care about the supervillains he battles with half the time, and he certainly isn’t emotionally invested in his job as a freelance photographer. So what’s his real motivation, then? Maybe it’s to find a true friend, someone who he can open up to, and take some of the pressure of emotional labor off of his wife, who barely tolerates him most of the time. For a tantalizing moment, it seemed like Scott could be that friend: after all, his insistence on stripping away the artifice of the superhero lifestyle seemed to lead to today’s first panel, in which he asks our hero about something real in his life. But, haha, nope, turns out that was just to distract Spidey so that he could get to the top of the building faster. Looks like yet another would-be pal is going to be paralyzed by spider-venom and left a hollowed-out husk after the delicious nutrients in his interior have been sucked out!
Six Chix, 9/10/16
I understand the motivation behind this, lady, but I’m not sure how comfortable you’re going to be in thirty years showing your own children lovingly hand-inked drawings of their father’s dick.
Gil Thorp, 9/9/16
Welp, looks like despite my best efforts to fool myself, summer is actually over in Milford, and football (both the American and foreign versions) season is getting underway! Panel one gives True Standish, the beloved (?) driving force behind many of the last couple years’ plots, an affectionate sendoff as he leaves the strip forever, or at least until he blows his knee out in a scrimmage a year from now and starts hanging awkwardly around Milford again. In panel two, Coach Kaz is the only person on the field wearing sunglasses, proclaiming his intention to let the whinges of his student-athletes blow harmlessly past him like “The Ride of the Valkyries” in the classic Maxell tape commercial. And in the final panel, a Lady Mudlark soccer player is experiencing one of the most valuable lessons that high school athletics has to offer: a keen insight into one’s own essential mediocrity.
Six Chix, 9/9/16
Shoutout to Six Chix for really committing to a strip gag where two vultures hang around talking about how much they love eating rotting animal carcasses! What really impresses me is that the artist gave that dead dog or whatever it is a face. Just two little closed eyes, but still, it crosses the line from “dead thing in the abstract” to “a creature that once lived and loved but then got hit by a car or maybe died of exposure and now its rotting corpse is a delicacy for these carrion-eaters to devour,” which, just to reiterate, is a joke that we’re expected to laugh at.