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Apartment 3-G, 12/2/07

“I worked on my paintings there! And that’s the window where I watched the moon!! And this is the room where I spent thirty-seven interminable weeks taking orders from what may have been the ghost of a prominent late 19th century American artist, but was probably just a figment of my oxygen-starved brain! Ha ha ha! Oh, did I forget to tell you about that, what with my conveniently selective amnesia and all?” Seriously, are we just going to pretend that the whole Ghost Ryder thing JUST NEVER HAPPENED? ARE WE? Because … because actually that would be pretty great. I really hated that whole storyline while it was happening, and the last thing I want to do is watch it get rehashed by these two morons.

Meanwhile, at the tavern across town: “Yes, but we could make it more fun, Gary! I’ve just heard about this great new thing all the young people are doing! It’s called ‘sex’!”

Blondie, 12/2/07

Yes, it looks like Dagwood and Blondie are friends with … the Glamrockers? All of them? From the entire history of glam rock? What about the ones like David Bowie, who eventually moved on to other aesthetics? Does this have anything to do with the Glambaster account?

I think the key to this whole puzzle is the middle panel of the bottom row, in which Dagwood busts out some old-school breakdance moves to celebrate the fact that he doesn’t have to go sit on the Glamrockers’ couch and watch Velvet Goldmine yet again. Obviously by the late ’70s or early ’80s Dagwood had come to believe that the whole glam rock craze was worn out and too studied by half, and found refuge in the new raw and frentic styles arising from the streets of the South Bronx.

Mark Trail, 12/2/07

Normally Mark Trail’s Sunday strips exist in a world wholly separate from the daily plots, but I can’t help but wonder if today’s lavishly illustrated paean to ritualized combat is meant to serve as a sad counterpoint to the deadly conclusion to the battle for territory between Johnny Malotte and Bull Malone. Why can’t humans take a cue from our animal friends, who know how far is too far? Why couldn’t Johnny and Bull simply have forced each other to smell their knuckles by turns until one of them had enough and withdrew instead of resorting to gunplay?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/2/07

If there’s one constant in the world of Rex Morgan, M.D., it’s that Rex is kind of a dick. Thus, I’m actually kind of surprised that Rex didn’t take the opportunity to correct Mrs. Jail Escapee’s reference to Niki as Rex’s “son.” “I’m sorry, ma’am, maybe it’s because you’re a lowlife yourself, but it should be pretty obvious to anyone with any degree of class that this little street punk obviously did not grow up in the sort of upper middle class home that my doctor’s salary could provide. That explains why he constantly disappoints me, anyway.” Of course, he’s still a dick enough to have underdosed Mr. Escapee on painkillers before cutting his arm open. With Rex, being a dick always comes first, even if it means that he might get shot in the face. That’s just how he rolls.

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Mark Trail, 11/29/07

Johnny’s in jail and his wife is getting in touch with the only one who can help him: nature writer and vigilante Mark Trail! How will Mark help his fiery Québécois friend? By punching the mountie who arrested him? Punching the guards at the jail? Punching the prosecuting attorney, the judge, and every member of the jury at Johnny’s trial? Punching Bull Malone’s corpse? Mark’s the expert, so we’ll just have to wait and see, but it’s sure to be exciting.

Apartment 3-G, 11/29/07

OK, now the narration boxes are just being cruel. “Lu Ann takes a deep breath…” OF CARBON MONOXIDE.

Crock, 11/29/07

“Then she realized that we live in a tent in the desert without any electricity — or, for that matter, phone service.”

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Apartment 3-G, 11/28/07

Hmm, perhaps I was too hasty yesterday when I dismissed out of hand the idea that there might be some tension between the A3G narration boxes and the actual narrative. How else to explain panel one, in which we are told that our fearsome foursome are “on the way to the tavern” when in fact they are very obviously standing around in Apartment 3-G’s blandly decorated living room and not going anywhere? The only way they could be less going to the tavern is if they were out on the street walking away from the tavern, though that would be harder to convey in the limited panel space here.

On the other hand, the sudden transition from blinding white to inky black in the second panel is evocative of some kind of movement. Maybe the Professor has whipped up some advanced transporter device, and we’re seeing them walk through a hole in space-time to emerge safely on the tavern’s front steps without having to encounter Manhattan street riff-raff. Or maybe there’s just an entrance to a Prohibition-era secret passageway behind the girls’ kitchen cabinets that connects to every gin joint in town.

Dennis the Menace, 11/28/07

I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Dennis with a look of obvious panic on his face; I guess it’s also the first time I’ve seen him with his pants down. I’ll stop going further down this incredibly inappropriate road because I mainly wonder how this can be worked into the increasingly awesome The Luck of Dennis St. Michel, Viscount Stokington. If you ever doubted that the combination of Dennis the Menace and Regency pastiche would be completely hilarious, this blog should put your mind at rest.

Mary Worth, 11/28/07

Man, I thought Mary was cold-hearted over the past few days as she allowed him to believe that she had some gentleman caller over so that he’d run over and fight for her honor. Now she continues to thrust her hound at her erstwhile not-lover as the latter’s respiratory passages begin to seize up. The question now is: who will win this battle of wills for Mary’s heart? Chester’s cuter, but Jeff is probably marginally smarter.

In panel one, Mary is waving Chester’s little paw at Jeff to give some veneer of respectability to her blatant attempt to thrust the dog’s genitals in the good doctor’s face.

Luann, 11/28/07

I’d say that this is supposed to be some sort of commentary on how secular iconography is displacing the true religious significance of the Christmas holiday, but this is the same strip that had town tramp Tiffany playing the Virgin Mary in this pageant. Luann headquarters is lucky that it isn’t a smoldering, lightning-struck hole right now.