Crock, (panels) 7/19/15
Say there, Crock Narration Box, I believe this is your very first appearance — congratulations, and welcome to the comics page! I hope you won’t mind a little constructive criticism from a long-time fan of Narration-Box classics like Phantom (“In the Bandar tongue!”), Apartment 3-G (“On the street, at the Tribeca Grill or maybe in their apartment …”) and — the Shakespeare of Narration Boxes — Amazing Spider-Man (Irony, anyone?“):
- First, credit where credit is due! The Lost Patrol’s gimmick is that they’re, well, lost, so good job maintaining the “fruitless search” narrative.
- You’re new here, but it’s “Narration Box,” OK? The panel frame doesn’t count — put a border around yourself, for decency’s sake.
- Finally show a little sympathy for your characters — when the joke is about them tripping over camel dung, “hot” and “steaming” are just twisting the knife.
Edge City, 7/19/15
Like Hi Flagston, Greg Wilkins, Frank DeGroot, and other stuck-in-time comics Dads, Len Ardin poses as a Gen-Xer, but his choice of music outs him as a Boomer. His music and, of course, his grotesquely swollen prostate.
Descending into madness, billionaire Howard Hughes grew obsessed with the spy drama Ice Station Zebra, watching it over and over. Here, Rose obsessively watches two Irish guys slug it out in a coal mine, scouring every scene for hidden clues that will help her make sense of her petty, vicious, empty life. She’s thaaaaat close to insight, she just knows it — but the answers just slip away every time. Of course it upsets her stomach — have a little compassion for the crazy old bat, you jerk. And take that damn hat off in the house.
Hi, everybody! I’m filling in until the 28th while Josh visits family and friends back East. Reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org if the site gives you any trouble. Enjoy!
– Uncle Lumpy
Funky Winkerbean, 6/26/15
Oh, look, it’s “jack-and-jill (v)”, another made-up phrase that nobody will ever use from the strip that brought you “Lewis-and-Clarking,” “Nordic,” and “solo car date!” This one really ups the ante, in the sense that a character is summoned forth from the narrative ether and brought on-panel to say it after having terribly injured himself.
Attention cartoonists everywhere: the era when a sentence could be deemed a punchline just because it included the phrase “cell phone” was extremely brief and ended more than a decade ago! Please make a note of it.
It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize this isn’t just garden-variety Heathcliff irritating whimsy, but a terrible play on words: the genie created jeans, get it? Get it? GET IT??? Based on the numb expression on the genie’s face, he’s as disgusted by it as I am.
“Yes, that’s right lady,” thinks Marvin’s mom slyly in panel three, “my husband is completely unfuckable.”
CRANKSHAFT AND HIS BUDDIES ARE GOING TO BE ARRESTED FOR POLITICAL CRIMES AND CONVICTED IN A PUBLIC SHOW TRIAL
THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR MY WHOLE LIIIIIFE
It’s true: if you’d been wandering in the desert since 2005, you might assume that e-mail was still the most important thing that you’d need to catch up on. Trooper Benson doesn’t know the extent to which texting has supplanted many other forms of communication, and he hasn’t even heard of Facebook Messenger, Twitter DMs, WeChat, WhatsApp, and any of the other bewildering things that have sprung up in the last decade. Sure, he’s a poor devil, all right — but maybe, in his own way, he’s the lucky one.
Family Circus, 6/16/15
Billy (7)’s reign of violent substitute cartooning terror continues! Today, Mommy Keane is about to be murdered by a nattily dressed old-timey gangster, who appears to be planning to use curtains as a sort of improvised garrote.
The expressions on the faces of our characters here — disgust and contempt on the dog-lady waitress, horror and shame on the bear-man customer — are exquisite and evocative. “No! It was a joke. A joke! I don’t even know what it means, I swear. I hate France! Don’t — don’t make me go live in the big city, I beg of you!”