Gil Thorp, 8/8/08
If there was a terrifying malformed human feature that defined the Frank McLaughlin era of Gil Thorp, it was the hair. The Rod Whigham era has just begun, but it’s pretty clear that in the new regime, it’s the hands that are most likely to make you feel queasy and uncomfortable. Whether we’re talking about malformed flippers or severed forearms attached to nothing particular, from the elbow down everything in the modern-day Gil Thorp is a little dodgy. Today’s panel three seems to be a direct response to criticism on this point. “You want well-drawn hands?” it practically shouts. “Well, here they are, by God, straight out of an anatomy textbook, disproportionally huge, and held up at an angle that nobody would ever actually use when clapping. Are you happy? Are you happy now?”
Hagar the Horrible, 8/8/08
That sly look on Helga’s face in panel two makes me think that “rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree top” is some incredibly filthy Viking sex act, possibly involving an actual tree and the sacrifice of a dozen virgins to Freya.
Mary Worth, 8/8/08
Hey, everybody! You can follow along with Toby’s amazing phishing journey at the newly updated Enormoushop.com! Be sure to give it a few moments so as to get the full-on identity-stealing experience. (UPDATE: And by “give it a few moments” I mean “wait about 10 seconds for the redirect, then wait again for another redirect, all three screens are funny, you won’t regret it.”)
Sexual affairs? I’m much more concerned about the emotional affairs. What with all the suppressed longing and daydreaming, the ostensibly “platonic” outings crackling with sexual tension, the long, tortured e-mails about why anything more is impossible — why, it doesn’t leave any time for the important work of the elected official, like meeting with lobbyists and raising money for re-election.
I’ve long been on the record as opposing Shoe’s depiction of birds with human-lady-style breasts, since actual birds do not have such things and they look creepy and weird. Well, do you know what else birds don’t have? Teeth. You hear me, panel three? Teeth.
With the back yard now essentially one vast mass grave, Marmaduke has begun storing the decomposing bodies of his victims in the house.
Ha ha! Those angry little birds are going to feast on Ziggy’s flesh!