Boy, This Archie rerun from the ’90s has turned out to be eerily prescient! It’s true that, in the modern age of atomized, Internet-based media distribution and social networking, many readers have a stronger allegiance to the writers they follow than to the publications those writers work for, especially when those writers can use Twitter and the like to push out information faster than the media outlets’ traditional publication process can. This has resulted in many cases in a change in the power relationships between writers and publishers, exemplified quite nicely by Archie and Reggie’s despair over how their business model can survive now that Veronica has demonstrated how easily it can be disrupted. Let’s all pray that this strip’s prediction of a white-ties-and-black-shirts renaissance isn’t equally accurate!
I sincerely hope that J. Jonah Iron Manbot Whateverson realizes eventually that the best way to “crush” Spider-Man is to do so metaphorically, simply by being better at catching criminals than he is. For isn’t it much more satisfying to crush a man’s spirit than to mangle his body? The best would be for him to continue to do this for years, and, every time he emerges victorious, to boast of his superiority over the hated wall-crawler, long after everyone else has forgotten who Spider-Man even is anymore.
Uncle Claybo is an animal hoarder, and his pigs got sick because of the unsanitary conditions in his house, and he was arrested for animal cruelty :(
Beetle Bailey, 2/14/14
Kudos to the King Features colorists: this is a joke about how Miss Buxley has placed small pieces of plastic directly onto her eyeballs (already one of the most unnatural acts I can possibly imagine) that are covered with so much filth that her normally blue irises appear to be a sort of mud-brown, and in order to sell it we really need to see those dirty specks in the middle of her wide, terrified eyes. And we do! I also like the way that Killer has suddenly stood upright in disgust between panels. “I, uh, I have to be going now. Hope you don’t go blind!”
There’s an obvious horror to final panel in today’s Crock, in which a grinning camel invites us to contemplate the fact that he’s managed, through sheer force of will, to shape the fatty deposit on his back into a grotesque parody of a human heart and then urges us to enjoy “humptine’s day,” something that we might associate with the enjoyable pastime of humping a loved one if not for the profoundly unerotic vision on display. But still, for me the most awful vision here is panel two, as the hump jiggles and throbs and extends, all while this eerie sentient camel maintains unbroken eye contact with us. HAPPY HUMPTINE’S DAY EVERYBODY
Ha ha, the joke is that they’re using “database” as a double-entendre to refer to a sexy part of a lady’s body! This is the sort of joke that would be funny to someone wholly unfamiliar with computers and only passingly familiar with sex. What’s really of interest to me here, though, are the weird black squares floating around our sassy legionnaire’s head in panel two? What are these mysterious, featureless intrusions into ordinary reality? My guess is that computer expert Billie Jean has long ago subsumed all of human existence into a vast computer simulation that she can watch and control like a god. Those blocks are a brief glitch in the Matrix. Her erstwhile paramour and his comrade, their bio-existence snuffed out uncountable digital eons ago, now endlessly replay this scene for Billie Jean’s amusement.
Herb and Jamaal, 1/24/14
“Ha ha ha, just kidding, I’m exaggerating because of how much time I spend on my cell phone! But seriously, I need something to help me take the edge off a little, if you know what I mean. Drugs. I’m talking about drugs. SELL ME DRUGS, HERB”
Mary Worth, 1/24/14
“Also, I had sex with Broadway legend Ken Kensington seven times! Well, one of those times we just did oral. It was a little too exciting, if you know what I mean. That’s why I came back to you and Santa Royale!”
Funky Winkerbean, 1/24/14
THE FUNKY WINKERBEAN MISSON STATEMENT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN