Gil Thorp, 4/8/09
Yesterday I was mildly amused by Gil getting hit in the head with a pop fly, but nothing could prepare me for the sheer awesome madness of … this, whatever this is. A baseball improbably rapping our favorite flattopped coach in the flattop twice before landing neatly in his hat? It’s one of those terrifying moments when you suddenly realize that the safe narrative confines to which you’ve grown accustomed have fallen away and ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN. Perhaps Gil will be on the receiving end of any number of bizarre events, good and bad and escalating in oddity, with the spring storyline turning into some kind of Latin American magic realist novel. Of course, everything after that first whack on the noggin will be just a dream percolating in Gil’s polyhedronical skull; in reality, he’s lying unconscious on the field, and his players are trying to figure out if they can get his wallet out of his pocket without waking him up.
Beetle Bailey, 4/8/09
You know, sometimes I have little moments when I think to myself “Maybe it’s gone a little too far with this whole comic strip thing.” Those moments come when I, for instance, spend fifteen minutes poking through my archives trying to figure out the deal with Beetle Bailey’s hats. Someone once told me that the hats the soldiers in this strip wear are a mishmosh of different uniform styles from different decades (which is true for just about any visual cue in a Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Enterprises LLC strip, I suppose); while everyone else seems to get just one designated bit of headgear, though, Beetle actually gets to change hats now and then. In the iconic image of Beetle that I have in my mind, he’s wearing this mushy baseball-cap-type thing, but lately he generally wears a slightly more military looking cap. The hat he’s wearing today is the one I usually associate with Killer, though perhaps it is the Army-approved lady-sexing cap, because Beetle seems to wear it on his dates with Miss Buxley and other environments where ladies might be romanced.
In other news, Miss Buxley apparently lies around her house disheveled and wearing only sleepwear in what I assume is the late afternoon or early evening. This is also true of me, but I’m guessing nobody gets all hot and bothered about that.
Good lord, what is that inky black puddle Marvin’s mom is cleaning up? Does the awful tyke piss out pure evil?
Wait, did that guy just offer to donate a kidney or something to Momma? Because I can’t see what else he might mean about Momma needing a couple of orgAUGH UNTHINK IT UNTHINK IT UNTHINK IT