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So, many moons ago there was a rash of spam on the Comics Curmudgeon forum that got so bad that I eventually had to turn off automatic account creation altogether, and just have folks email me when they want an account set up. Since generally I only get a few such requests a week, this wasn’t a big problem.

However, it appears that for the past month or more, all those requests have been going straight into my spam folder. As Cathy would say: Ack! So, if you sent me a request to sign up for the forum and never heard back, please email me at bio@jfruh.com and I’ll get you set up in the next few days. Be sure to include the username you want to use in your email.

(Please note that you do NOT need an account to post comments on entries in the main blog — this is strictly for the forums site.)

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Apartment 3-G, 9/25/08

Oh, hey everyone, did you hear that Alan got killed? This was not news, since we saw him get shot and also knew that he was a drug addict, and drug addicts always come to a terrible bloody end. A more intriguing question was what exactly had caused Lu Ann to GASP when she saw Alan’s artwork; today we finally learn that Alan has turned away from superbland grey cityscapes and towards angry, black-smeared abstract art. I wouldn’t say it’s “good”, but it actually looks like a vague approximation of modern art, so naturally Lu Ann (she of the shitty flower paintings) sees it as destructive.

That could be any number of people BUZZing at the front door — Haley looking for more drugs, Ray looking for someone else to kill, Jones back from vacation with a delivery of fresh dope that has come tragically too late — but my money’s on Margo, rushing directly over from the morgue to snatch up Alan’s artwork so that the Mills Gallery alone will profit from the inevitable post-highly-public-murder price spike.

By the way, do you notice that Lu Ann apparently sleeps while wearing pearls? That’s how you know she’s a lady.

Shoe, 9/25/08

I found few things in today’s comics more hilarious than the Perfesser’s angry yet befuddled protest sign. I look forward to future statements of activist intent along the same lines, such as “WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH THE WAR IN IRAQ?”, “HIGH GAS PRICES: HUH?”, and “I DON’T REALLY UNDERSTAND THIS WALL STREET BAILOUT THING BUT IT MAKES ME IRRITATED AND UNCOMFORTABLE.”

Archie, 9/25/08

Oh, AJGLU 3000! Who can blame you for being a bit puzzled as to how the mysterious and slightly distasteful fleshy sensory organs on the human head correlate to specific senses? But for future reference, the one you should have gone with here is “ears.”

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 9/24/08

When I first read this comic, I missed the joke, reading the dialog of the last two panels like this:

“Really? Your dad’s a traveling salesman?”

“No, just kidding! He’s just the regular kind of dad you’d find in this blighted hillbilly shantytown: a toothless, semi-literate chicken thief with no visible means of support and a terrible gambling problem! He’s never home because he’s usually in jail, or at a whorehouse!”

I did get my head around the punchline in short order, obviously, but then, because I’m a fancy east coast urban elitist (if that wasn’t obvious from my initial interpretation), I became resentful about being befuddled by a strip about rustic morons. Damn you, you clever mountain folk!

Gil Thorp, 9/24/08

You know, if Cully Vale had been caught looming menacingly over the shattered form of one of his hapless backyard wrestling victims like monstrously large defensive back (or something?) Jeff Ponczak is doing in panel two here, he’d have been put away for life. But because Jeff’s assault took place in the context of a school-sanctioned athletic competition, he gets the cheers of thousands, and everything is A-OK! Instead, it’s the third panel of today’s Gil Thorp that’s really disturbing. Let’s count the ways!

• Jeff is gazing rapturously heavenward with the sun (or possibly the stadium lights) beaming down on his face, as if he were in a propaganda poster urging the workers and peasants to redouble their efforts to meet the goals of Stalin’s latest Five-Year Plan.
• Some sort of terrifying bandage-wrapped hand is resting on Jeff’s shoulder, as if he were being accosted by a leper or a mummy or, worse, Spider-Man.
• Jeff is being showered with approbation in the form of a series of epithets that reference his quarterback-tackling prowess, all of which will unfortunately force you to contemplate Jeff’s scrotum.

Mark Trail, 9/24/08

And with the arrival of a mustache, we now have this storyline’s sinister villain, in the form of the random white dude attached to the aforementioned mustache. I can’t wait until we find out that the “right people on our side” are the lawyers who have meticulously worked with state and local governments and environmental groups to get the permits necessary to drain the grassland and build something nice on the land legally owned by Mr. Mustache and Mr. Guy He’s Talking On The Phone To Who Probably Also Has A Mustache. “But, Mr. Trail, I think you’ll find that all our paperwork is in order…” “Paperwork does not impress me! You drained a friend of mine’s land’s neighboring wetlands!” *PUNCH*