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Comics archive!
February, 2005
Hagar the Horrible, 2/28/05
Okay, so I don’t claim to have any special insight into the creative process over at Hagar the Horrible Central, but I think the line of thought that led to today’s comic went something like this:
- Come up with uproarious joke involving cannibal natives and Hagar and Lucky Eddie in a big cast-iron pot.
- Realize that cannibal natives don’t fit into the carefully constructed and meticulously researched ninth-century AD European milieu of the strip.*
- Refuse to give up on joke because, I mean, you’ve already thought of it, and golf doesn’t just play itself.
- Replace cannibal natives with random medieval-looking knights/villagers; replace pot with stakes.
- Taste the hilarity!
*Yes, sometimes Hagar and Lucky Eddie are stranded on what appear to be tropical islands. I say they’re in the Mediterranean, off the coast of North Africa. The historical accuracy of Hagar the Horrible is not to be impugned! Feel free to impugn its humor level, though, because that’s generally very, very low.
Hi and Lois, 2/27/05
My fiancée says that Hi’s bug-eyed, sweaty expression in the last panel is his “having fun” face. I say he’s out of his mind on helium. Look at Lois’ expression in the rightmost panel in the middle row: she knows that trouble’s brewing; clearly Hi has a longstanding “problem” whip-its and the like, and she’s been down that light-headed, squeaky-voiced road before. I don’t mean to blow the cover off the seamy side of an ostensibly family-friendly strip like this, but obviously substance abuse is the only logical explanation here: nobody has that much fun just blowing up balloons.
Also: Hi seems to have purchased his drug paraphernalia at a “Fun Store,” surely a euphemism for a head shop if I’ve ever heard one. Also also: Lois appears to be wearing black lipstick in the final frame, which both complements her skeletal visage and signifies her S&M lifestyle.
Beetle Bailey, 2/26/05
Look at ‘em! Bunch of lousy peacenik hippies! Not a decent pair of pants or shoes in the whole bunch!
On the bright side, though: tube tops. You don’t get those at a pro-war rally.
By the way, I know I live in a blue state and all, but do they actually have pro-war rallies? Like, people carrying signs that say “BOMB ‘EM” and stuff?
Anyway, this strip features Rocky, one of the lesser-used Beetle Bailey platoon members. The writers like to come up with a new one-dimensional character every few years and beat his lone joke to death slowly and painfully (good ol’ Chip Gizmo is current holder of this honor) before relegating him to the supporting cast. Rocky’s heyday must have been back in the 1950s or so, because he gets his name from the fact that he likes the durn “rock and roll” music that the kids are all hot and bothered about these days. I always confuse him with Killer, whose distinguishing characteristic is that he likes the ladies (he’s a ladykiller, get it?). If Killer were used in this strip, it might have made a vague sort of sense (yes, that midriff-baring pacifist again). As it is: sorry, but no.
Mark Trail, 2/25/05
You know, when you go on a long trip, manage feuding love interests, fight artifact smugglers, get knocked unconscious and left for dead by vicious drug-dealing taxidermist/veterinarian duos, and dribble water all over the place for hours on end in defiance of all known laws of fluid dynamics, when you come home, you just want to take off your electric blue sports jacket and relax. You certainly don’t want to deal with the fact that your adopted son has come down with a bad case of hydrocephaly, with his right arm withering to a freakish stump to boot. God damn it, Doc, we leave the kid alone with you for … um, how long has it been exactly? Feels like about a year and a half. Assuming that the freaky little bastard hasn’t become a hideous mutant and that the third panel isn’t supposed to give the reader a window into Mark’s PCP-distorted worldview, I’m guessing that it’s supposed to depict Rusty running headlong towards his returning family members. Though it may very well be the PCP thing.
By the way, Mark’s “Bill is a smart man” comment is probably the single cattiest thing that’s ever been uttered in this strip. Seeing as Mark used to date her too, its implications become more alarming the more I think about it. “Bill’s probably just using her for sex … you know, like, I did … um, wait, did I say that last part out loud?”
Apartment 3-G, 2/22/05
Mary Worth, 2/22/05
So, you know, one should separate work from play and all that, but, as it turns out, there’s a wireless network I can hook onto from my condo here in Bermuda (thanks “blackfalcon,” whoever you are), and I had already brought my laptop for other reasons, and, well, OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ANNA IS INFERTILE AND MARGO IS INVOLVED IN SOME SORT OF BABY-SELLING SCAM HOLY CRAP! and so I really felt like I should say something.
Of course, Mim could just give her baby to Anna and Dr. Brian — problem solved! Also, maybe it’s just me, but the whole “do ya think one of my virile little sperm successfully fertilized your succulent, feminine egg last night?” discussion doesn’t seem particularly romantic. Or sexy. Or even pleasant. The woman sitting behind them feels the same way, I think.
Holy crap, a guy can’t get out of town for two days without all hell breaking loose on the comics pages. There’s way too much going on to leave unremarked until I get back from Bermuda, so here’s the wrap-up.
Mary Worth, 2/20–21/05
OK, so Dr. Brian was apparently wracked by so much pent-up lust after being constantly interrupted in his two-week quest to pop the question to Anna that, once he finally managed to spit it out, they flew directly to Vegas, checked into whatever sordid, jaundice-walled hotel is across the street from “Plaza,” got hitched, and then headed for their lumpy, overstarched nuptial bed the very next day. This is without doubt the fastest that anything has happened in Mary Worth, though the fact that they’re flying back home in the next day’s strip may indicate that something else happened a little too fast, too. (OK, that’s a cheap shot, but I have to work out my anger about the loathsome “bedside manner” foreplay talk somehow.) Anyway, Monday’s strip features some Mark Trail-style talking scenery and what appears to be the traditional post-coital arm-wrestling match.
Apartment 3-G, 2/18/05, 2/20–21/05
Meanwhile, in Apartment 3-G, not only does Tommie get two panels all to herself, but we also learn an important truth: good mothers are involved in their teenage daughters’ roadside activities, while bad ones live in vans in other people’s driveways. I can’t wait to find out what particular set of van-focused scriptures Mim’s mom uses as her guide to life. This sequence also features two classic Margo assertions: that parking-poor Manhattan is thankfully impervious to Lu Ann’s sister’s peculiar brand of driveway-based spirituality, and that being nice to people is really, really hard, especially when you have to give up your couch to do it. You can see that the effort involved in showing compassion is so great that it’s making her eyes point in different directions.
And, finally, over in Mark Trail…
Mark Trail, 2/18/05
“What you said is wrong! I dispute what you said! My lawyers will force you to show some sort of what-you-said evidence! Damn you, Trail!”