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Apartment 3-G, 8/3/09

Margo has already wept a single noble tear over Eric’s heroic death (or at least ostentatiously dabbed her eyes to imply said weeping); now, after having cycled through the Kubler-Ross stages of grief in record time, she has reached the little-known step that comes after acceptance: scratching one’s chin while scheming transparently. “Oh, I can think of some ways we can make my sacrifice worth it — er, I mean, ways you can be worthy of my sacrifice. Look, all the ‘Free Tibet’ hippies and ‘fear the ChiComs’ right-wingers back in the States are going to want to hear your story. I’m thinking instant book — don’t worry, I know a great ghostwriter — followed by a nationwide speaking tour. You’ll need a manager, of course. You know in the U.S. it’s traditional for a manager to take a 75 percent cut up front, right?”

Beetle Bailey, 8/3/09

I was so busy laughing uproariously at this send-up of an old man’s vanity that I almost missed the odd setting, which seems to involve Beetle holding U.S. soldiers at gunpoint. Could the military men at Camp Swampy, long ignored by the Pentagon hierarchy, have launched a coup? The most ill-conceived and incompetently run coup in history?

Cathy, 8/3/09

Why yes, now that Cathy has discovered the Facebook and publicly identified it as the theme of the eighteen million insufferable and near-identical jokes that it will be hammering home over the next six to fifteen weeks — jokes that will, as is typical of this strip, serve as a very thin veneer over a bubbling cauldron of terrifying anxiety about the most minute aspects of everyday social relations — life as I knew it is over forever, thanks for noticing. I and several hundred thousand other comics readers will be committing mass suicide in short order.

Crankshaft, 8/3/09

Even the most dedicated Crankshaft readers have traditionally regarded Crankshaft’s insufferable yuppie neighbor’s yappy little dog with vague irritation, if they were aware of him at all. But now that he has heroically saved Crankshaft from an agonizing death by snake venom, they’ll be even more irritated with him. If he was supposed to have been a hero, he should have gleefully urinated on the fallen, snakebitten ’Shaft while the hateful old man weakly cried for help.

(Seriously, though, little dogs dying in pain in the comics = NOT COOL, MAN. FBOFW at the height of its powers got away with it, barely. You, Crankshaft, are no FBOFW.)

(UPDATE: Faithful reader Chibigodzilla points out that the little dog belongs not to the ’Shaft’s annoying neighbor, but to his daughter’s annoying mother-in-law. I guess we should try to figure what the hell its deal is, now that it’s sacrificed itself.)

Momma, 8/3/09

Ignoring for the moment the wildly incorrect gibberish coming out of the mouths of Francis and not-Francis in this strip, I am sort of charmed by the setting: Francis and his bud hanging out in the woods, or maybe just in that copse of trees behind the gas station, drinking cheap beer out of cans and demonstrating their total ignorance of the North American Numbering Plan and the Telecommunication Standardization Sector (ITU-T)’s E.164 recommendation, which defines numbering plans for international telephony worldwide. Good times!

One Big Happy, 8/3/09

But wait, what would a guy do with a horse and a monkOH GOD OH GOD OH GOD

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Mark Trail, 8/1/09

Many of you weak-kneed liberals have been demanding that Mark call the so-called “police” in regards to the tragedy unspooling in Lost Forest, or involve the EPA or some other big-government bureaucracy to right these wrongs. You fail to understand that justice flows from only one source in this realm: not from laws drawn up by the people’s duly elected and appointed representatives, but from Mark’s own preternaturally clear vision of right and wrong. When it comes to a monster who’s willing to dump toxic chemicals off a cliff and grievously and precisely wound from a distance, Andy’s nose is the only investigator we need, and Mark’s fists the only appropriate punishment. Note that even the forest itself is helping speed the moment of good’s triumph, as it baffles and disorients our assassin, leading him right into Mark’s waiting knuckles.

Apartment 3-G, 8/1/09

Despite her overwhelming sadness, Margo is being quite considerate here; as her acidic tears would burn right through human flesh in mere seconds, she makes sure to catch them in an asbestos handkerchief she carries just for that purpose.

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Mary Worth, 7/27/09

Faithful reader Baka Gaijin has been agitating for folks to come up with a nickname that will forever serve as a shorthand for this Mary Worth plotline; I’m always hesitant to prematurely elevate any plot to Aldomania status, but today’s first panel, in which Charley lunges forward ravenously as his purple-jumpsuited lust-object-of-the-moment hesitates coquettishly on the threshold of his badly decorated apartment, goes a long way towards convincing me. I have no idea why he’s assuming this particular position — presumably one of his previous conquests told him that his chin and his chest were his best features, so he always tries to lead with them, and damn the consequences to his posture. Also of note is the bizarre perspective in this panel; it’s as if we’re watching our lovebirds through a camera mounted on Charley’s ceiling. That’s probably because we are watching them through a camera mounted on Charley’s ceiling, and the whole sordid coupling will be uploaded to CharleysLoveDen.com in short order.

Meanwhile, in panel two we get a hilarious view of Delilah crossing her fingers behind her back. Because everyone knows that if you keep your fingers crossed as you methodically work your way through the Kama Sutra with some dude who isn’t your husband, it isn’t really cheating.

Judge Parker, 7/27/09

But hey, Lawrence, even though seeing your wife making a pass at stripey-shirted Charley may make you question her judgement, look at this way — at least he isn’t, you know, a horse.

Gil Thorp, 7/27/09

OH MY GOD GIL THORP’S STALKER IS … uh … this guy? Whom Gil apparently recognizes (‘You?”), meaning that he’s probably a beloved character from the past, but maybe from before the current artist took over, which is why none of us can recognize him? And even when we’re talking about characters drawn by the same artist, it’s kind of hard to tell all the teenagers apart? See, Gil Thorp team, there’s a reason your characters are referred to as something like “five foot eight left guard Dan Grabowski” the first twelve times they appear in the strip. On plus side, though, this strip does present us with the image of Coach Kaz pedaling up the street all stealthy-like on his silent ninja-bike (a low-rider? maybe? please?), which is deeply pleasing to me.

Apartment 3-G, 7/27/09

Oh, I can see where this is going: Eric refused to put on his hat to protect his ears from the frigid Himalayan air and caught his death of cold, just like my mother always warned. Fortunately the young lama has his magical Buddha powers to protect him.