You might think that after his near death experience, Crankshaft would be ready to show a little humility — you might think that, that is, unless you read the strip on a regular basis, in which case you would know that being a smug dick is one of the key defining aspects of the old man’s personality. Admittedly, he isn’t actually causing anyone physical or emotional pain for once, but still, his expression of epically smug self-satisfaction in panel three is wildly at variance with the quality of the — well, I don’t even know what to call it. It’s not a pun, you can’t in good conscience call it a joke, and if you referred to it as a play on words, then the thought of how joyless and grim your playtime must have been as a child chills me to the core. Anyway, the point is that Crankshaft is an unfunny jerk who I’d hope would be stung to death by bees enraged at being roped into this sordid scene, except they already tried that and it didn’t work.
While I’m not Catholic, I do believe that confession is good for the soul, which is why I always feel compelled to admit it here when Cathy elicits a genuine chuckle. In the case of this strip, I wasn’t amused by the bizarre denouement, in which it’s revealed that Irving has no idea what he looks like (presumably that’s because any mirror brought into their home is shattered in short order by an ACKing swimsuit-clad Cathy); but I did kind of find the panels in which he’s shouting abuse into a laptop screen kind of funny, as it’s simultaneously ludicrous and something I feel a certain amount of familiarity with (see angry diatribe about Crankshaft, above).
Gil Thorp, 8/10/09
“I mean, Marty’s arm is already shot, so I don’t see how hauling a bunch of wood around could hurt him any more. Hey, Marty, let me know if your shoulders get sore! I have some cortisone here that will make you feel better!”
Meanwhile, at Ted Pearse’s Li’l Hobo Sport Camp And Sammich Dispensary™, another promising youngster is showing that he too is ready for some cortisone injections, as he participates in the traditional pastime of underprivileged youth: throwing around a stale sourdough batard that they fished out of a dumpster. Winner gets to eat it!
Dick Tracy, 8/10/09
“Hey, everyone, it’s me! The lifeless, bleeding, twisted corpse over here? Anyone want to throw a blanket over me? You know, help me maintain some shred of dignity? Anyone? Little help?”