Gil Thorp, 7/11/18
Hey, it’s Gil Thorp wrapup time, with Marjie Ducey! And if there’s a more callous, dismissive line of Gil Thorp B.S. than panel three there, I don’t ever want to hear it: “Kid gives me four years, to do what for him? Sometimes you just don’t like a kid, stuff happens, it is what it is! Things change; everything works out — for me anyway. Is that all? I gotta get home and grab some of that Pinot before Mimi drains the box.”
This sets up the exact inverse of “Curtis is Humiliated Trying on Clothes”, and works just as well.
[The old-school draftsmanship in Zits — like Sherman’s Lagoon, Curtis, and Gasoline Alley — is usually impeccable. That’s why the missing corner of that banner in panel one sticks out: “SALF”?]
Funky Winkerbean, 7/11/18
I know both Josh and I go on about the wads of exposition in this strip: characters (“your father, John Darling”) are constantly reintroduced, events (“the coming reunion”) explained with every mention, and whole backstories laboriously introduced to set up … not much. Maybe the creators are trying to make the strip accessible to casual readers who don’t see it every day? Maybe they don’t realize they’re punishing people for paying attention?
Anyway, if you’re gonna expose, expose right: Eisner is justly famous for his comic books; his early, obscure strips all flamed out before 1939. And San Diego weather is delightful.
Gunther’s not at all upset by the idea of his mother as a person independent from himself, with feelings and desires of her own. He just can’t shake the image of Mr. Gray in a leather mask, twirling a leopard-print Speedo over his head and hollering “COWABUNGA”!
“I learned that from you, Boomer scum!”
Aaaaand that’s it for me, folks! Thank you for a lovely time, and for your generosity during the fundraiser. You guys are first-rate human beings and should all cut yourselves some extra slack today; tell ’em Carl told you so.
Josh will be back tomorrow with songs of the Auvergne, profuse thanks, and his usual slantwise take on comics of the day.
— Uncle Lumpy