Post Content

Herb and Jamaal and Wizard of Id, 3/3/07

OK, cartoonists, white and black alike, we get it, we get it. Rap music is a defining genre for a generation of young people, black and white alike, but you just don’t care for it. Feel free to intersperse your rants against rap among your rants about the fact that young people don’t seem to find the comics relevant anymore.

At least the admonishment in the Wizard of Id makes some vague sort of sense, since it takes place centuries before the birth of hip-hop. Presumably the rap aficionado is a time traveler from the future, being urged to keep quiet about his aesthetic choices lest he somehow alter the timeline and create a twentieth century Earth ruled by Hitler, or possibly by KRS-One.

Gil Thorp, 3/3/07

More proof that Marty Moon is from Mars and the Lady Mudlarks are from Venus. “Nothing seems to bother the girls”? Jeez, Marty, do you think they always look like a bunch of numb-eyed, emotionally stunted zombies? Oh, wait, this is Gil Thorp, I suppose they do.

Mark Trail, 3/3/07

Mark’s doing exactly the right thing here. When I took a swim safety class in high school, they taught us that you can save a drowning person just by believing in their abilities hard enough. Also, in a situation like this, you should never leave your breakfast unattended, because your bacon might get cold.

Post Content

Marvin, 3/2/07

All right, Marvin, listen to me: “like that popular toy” isn’t something that any human being would ever in a gazillion years say. An actual human being would say “like Dancin’ Elmo” (and substitute the actual brand name of whatever animatronic Taiwanese-manufactured hunk of plush crap is being demanded by all the little squallers this year for “Dancin’ Elmo”). The only situation in which you’d say “like that popular toy” is if you had a law firm on retainer that was terrified of angering some major toy manufacturing concern vetting your dialogue before you speak it.

Of course, these are all Marvin’s thought balloons, and I suppose that we don’t really know how pre-vocal infants think, so it’s possible that their internal narrative sounds like it was composed by a committee of overcautious corporate lawyers. But I kind of doubt it.

By the way, Floppet, if the way I’m interpreting that last panel is correct, as soon as Marvin starts walking around and shaking his diapered butt vaguely in time to the Barney song, you’ll be finding yourself in a box at the Salvation Army in short order.

Herb and Jamaal, 3/2/07

I find it charming that Ezekiel’s mom looks so horrified that her son is apparently making the essentially arbitrary choice of underwear style by a somewhat whimsical method. Presumably, if she knew the truth — that Ezekiel had gone through some horribly misguided career-selection algorithm that boiled things down to two possible life paths, one of which involving hundreds of thousands of dollars in education expenses for her, the other involving her son being repeatedly punched in the head until he’s left a near vegetable at the age of thirty, and that he’s using random chance to determine which road to take — she’d be totally fine with it.

Family Circus, 3/2/07

P.J. from the Family Circus + pornstar mustache = my weekend ruined, thanks a lot.

Post Content

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/1/07

Now, what’s this I hear about some of you actually complaining about this apparent climax to the current Rex Morgan, M.D., storyline? Are you people insane? What better way to nicely encapsulate the utter incompetence of everybody bipedal in this strip — health care professionals, cops, drug dealers and all — than to have the main villain — who, let me remind you, is (or until recently was) armed, like, with a gun — cowering and begging for mercy before some kind of spaniel mix who can’t weigh more than, what, forty pounds? Abbey the Wonderdog is awesome. I look forward to the next plot, where she successfully begins second-guessing Rex and June’s medical diagnoses. “Well, it’s probably flu, but — what’s that, girl? You think I should screen for pneumonia? Will do!”

Luann, 3/1/07

Don’t let the fact that I managed to snag such a lovely and charming wife fool you: in my single days, I wasn’t always 100 percent sure on just what it is the girls dug. Thus, rather than make assumptions, I’d like to pose a question to the ladies out there of appropriate persuasion and age range to date, if not Brad, then someone vaguely Brad-like. If some guy you had recently started seeing invited you over to his swingin’ bachelor pad/gingerbread house, and you walked into the living room and it was painted entirely black, which of the following would be closer to the first thing that would come to your mind?

• “Wow, an all-black living room! This is pretty cool! I dig this! I’m totally going to have sex with him!”
• “OH MY GOD HE’S BROUGHT ME INTO HIS RITUAL SACRIFICE CHAMBER GET ME OUT OF HERE HELP HELP HELP”

Dick Tracy, 3/1/07

I’m just putting this up here as a helpful reminder so that if anyone ever asks you, “Say, when did Dick Tracy stop being a reliably odd chestnut and start being a horrifying acid trip,” you can say, without hesitation, “March 1, 2007.”

Pluggers, 3/1/07

So … Cathy’s a plugger?

They’ll Do It Every Time, 3/1/07

“You sire a child, and for eighteen years they expect you to pay attention to them when you’d rather be watching television. Then they finally get out of your hair, but … wha-a-a-a-a? Now they have kids that you’re supposed to feel warmly towards! OH YEAH!”