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Judge Parker, 1/14/09

If the Dixie Julep story has taught us anything, it’s that Judge Parker loves a violent blonde. But hopefully, as this story unfolds and we watch Sophie wreak a righteous, Carrie-style vengeance against snooty cheerleaders and everyone else who ever wronged her, we’ll learn that sometimes, the violent blondes are violent for a reason.

It’s worth noting that this storyline is part of Sophie’s continuing transformation, from a pantsuit-wearing prepubescent superbrain to a surly teenager with a hair-trigger temper. Said transformation has taken 14 months of real time, which is actually halfway realistic, but (and hopefully Uncle Lumpy can come up with the exact number) only about six days of strip time, which is less so. It’s possible that this shockingly rapid onset of puberty is precisely what’s causing her erratic and aggressive behavior.

Herb and Jamaal, 1/14/09

Having seen Jamaal trying to bust a move on Yolanda for much of the last four years, I can see why he doesn’t understand how Herb came to have a wife … or a daughter, for that matter. But a mother-in-law? “Gee, Jamaal, I don’t think I ever implied that my wife was grown in a lab.”

Apartment 3-G, 1/14/09

Hey, look, after three months, we’ve returned to Lu Ann in South Dakota! Last we saw her she was reconnecting with Cody Styles, and now she’s … reconnecting with Cody Styles. I’m beginning to form a theory about Apartment 3-G’s singular failure to follow Lu Ann’s prairie adventures: the producers have been unable to hire locals for extras at poverty rates, discovering to their surprise that these hardy midwesterners still have too much dignity to appear in this comic.

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Apartment 3-G, Funky Winkerbean, and Mark Trail, 1/12/09

Not one but three continuity strips greet the new week with shocking plot twists, which, in the world of continuity strips, just means “dragging out the current plot lines in the hopes that you might complain if the newspaper decides to replace said continuity strip with Brewster Rockit.” We begin with Margo, who last we saw was snooping happily around Eric’s well-appointed apartment, finding what appeared to be her own engagement ring (and showing admirably un-Margo-like restraint in not tearing it open and proposing to herself on the spot). Then she noticed a message on Eric’s answering machine, decided to listen to it, and … what? What recorded message could have shaken Margo to her very core, leading her to physically remove the machine from the premises, presumably as a prelude to encasing it in concrete and dropping it into the ocean? Did Alan leave a detailed message explaining the profit-sharing on their dope-dealing scheme? Does Eric have significant overdue fines from Blockbuster for an embarrassing series of romantic comedies (including but not limited to The Lakehouse and Kate and Leopold)? Was it a call asking if he wanted his subscription to Hot Girls Who Never, Ever Wear Vests Magazine renewed? WHAT?

Funky Winkerbean perhaps isn’t supposed to be mysterious; maybe we’re supposed to be familiar enough with Rana’s personality to understand why she would find a “cheerleading notice” to be shrieeekworthy, and whether that would be a good shrieeek or a bad shrieeek. Of course, that would require more than maybe five post-time-jump strips to have focused on her, which hasn’t been the case, so: confusion. And Patty’s sudden urge to flee the Trail compound is confusing in that run-of-the-mill why-do-the-humans-in-Mark-Trail-act-like-this sense. “I thought that five in the morning would be the perfect time to have a woman-to-woman talk, Cherry! Usually at that time my husband is out in the woods, with the animals … oh, I’ve already said too much.”

Hi and Lois, 1/12/09

Ah, the too-busy suburban couple, failing to savor a too-brief moment of contact before heading out to their separate lives. By “icebergs” Hi no doubt means “the genitals of your fellow realtors, at least one of whom apparently has a thing for Phrygian caps.”

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/12/09

“Haw haw, I knew that’d get a good tongue-wagglin’ laugh out of y’all, considerin’ our illit’racy! Now let’s commence with the book-burnin’.”

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Apartment 3-G, 1/6/09

Oh, Margo! Even when you’re busy snooping and destroying evidence all by yourself, you can’t help but indulge yourself in a little free-form bitchery. And that’s OK; you need to practice to keep yourself in fighting shape. But I question whether anyone wearing that vest/button-shirt combo — you’re one cameo away from being the cover girl for the next issue of Hot Western Schoolmarm Monthly — has a right to impugn the aesthetic choices of others. Admittedly, I’m not sure I’d have wanted something in my living room that was so … aqua, even before I married a woman with impeccable taste in interior design, but the larger problem is that the leather couch doesn’t scream “bachelor” so much as it screams “chair,” what with it being only wide enough for one person to sit on it and all. I know New York apartments are small, but still.

Family Circus, 1/6/09

I was planning on waxing pretentious about how this panel neatly encapsulates American middle class anxieties and explains both why we passed the PATRIOT Act and why we don’t let little kids play outside anymore, but then I realized that I should just relax and enjoy the sight of a couple Keane Kids in a moment of terror, right before they’re mauled by a vicious dog. It’s kind of impressive that they can still dish out the adorable puns even as they panic.

Phantom, 1/6/09

The Phantom plotline just concluded involved a madman attempting to use bats as biological weapons agents, only to eventually become infected with deadly Ebola himself, yet was so boring that I managed to not comment on it at all and could barely remember what it was without going back and checking. Thus, while an optimist might insist any plot that begins with horrible scaly fish-men from the briny sea must be promising, I have my doubts. I am amused by the fact that that these tailèd sea beasts are demurely wearing loincloths, to protect our innocent eyes from their hideous blue mer-penises.

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