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Marvin, 5/15/07

Remember, kids: HIGH TECHNOLOGY = COMEDY GOLD. Here’s a list of punchlines that would be very similar to the one in this strip, but which fail to achieve knee-slapping hilarity because they ignore the crucial “e-factor” of Internet-related revelry:

• “I think it means mom got me from Christie’s in New York.”
• “I think it means mom paid money for me at a store.”
• “I think it means I was born in a country that doesn’t value girl babies, but does value Western currency.”
• “I think it means mom couldn’t get anyone to have sex with her.”

Mark Trail, 5/15/07

I’m pretty sure that, like George W. Bush’s famous “Bring it on!” line, County Commissioner Sideburns Q. Mustache’s statement that “If Mark Trail is looking for a bird problem, let’s give him one!” will haunt the rest of his political career. Thus it will probably be a blessing that said career isn’t going to last much longer, since Mark will soon show up to impeach him WITH HIS FISTS.

Longtime Mark Trail readers probably thought that last year’s “I’ll use explosives to fake a rockslide so as to convince the county to seize forest land via eminent domain to the advantage of my planned gambling casino” was some sort of apex of laughably unrealistic political skullduggery, but with this “Let’s get people fired up about birds so we can convince them to vote in a new airport on our property,” we move past “contrived” and straight on into Dada. If you managed to convince Karl Rove to drop acid and write a comic strip — and I have to admit that I would support you in such a quixotic effort — this is the sort of thing he’d come up with.

B.C., 5/15/07

Hey everybody! Let’s set the wayback machine for [squints] 1997 and enjoy some classic B.C.! Today, we learn that you shouldn’t go to chiropractors who are deranged mass murderers who build furniture out of the mangled body parts of their victims as some sort of horrific monument to their soulless evil. See, this strip used to be “edgy.”

Apartment 3-G, 5/15/07

FYI, I’m officially boycotting Apartment 3-G until it starts making God-damned sense again.

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Apartment 3-G, 5/11/07

Sure, Gabriella is a cringe-inducing stereotype who babbles in a parody of Spanish that’s worse even than the Judge Parker punks’ French. She also nurtured the black, black soul of Margo in her womb for nine months. But if she manages to rescue Lu Ann where all others have failed, she’ll officially become one of the most together and interesting people in this strip, rivaling the “I’m a docent!” guy and leagues ahead of Tommie. She’s doing it with style and panache, too, saying a little prayer and then letting Satan himself know that she is on the side of good and that his infernal “locks” cannot keep her from her holy mission.

Family Circus, 5/11/07

For reasons I can’t explain, I am totally charmed by the fact that Jeffy and Dolly have thrown some pillows on the floor to relax on for their little chat, and that Jeffy is resting his chin in his hand while he contemplates the insane nonsense that his sister is spouting. If they were older, I’d say they were high (“Hey, is that old saying, like, ‘moth’ or, like, ‘moss’? And, like, what does it mean?”), but as it is they’re clearly just morons on pillows.

B.C., 5/11/07

So, for those of you not following the details: the B.C.s written before Johnny Hart’s death ended around the end of April, and for the next eight weeks or so we’ll be getting the Hart family’s favorite classic strips before we start in with the “new” strips assembled from old drawings and new jokes. The repeat strips have as near as I can tell all been from the last ten to fifteen years, which is kind of odd for a strip that had decades of storied history and a kind of terrible last ten to fifteen years.

Anyway, today’s repeat struck me as really familiar, which is an experience I have a lot, since I read newspaper comics obsessively and have a disturbingly good recall for them. If you squint at the copyright notice beneath the first panel, you’ll see that the date on this is 1996, but my memory of it was a lot fresher, so I went hunting through my archives and found this, from three months ago:

B.C., 2/5/07

Yeah. Um. The weird part is that it’s clearly not the same strip — the art is different and the wording of the punchline has been tweaked a bit. I do need to say that if you have to write a joke every day for years and years, you could actually plagiarize from yourself and not realize it — after all, if you thought it was funny once, you might think so again a few years later. Going through my archives, I’ve found that I’ve made the same joke, nearly word-for-word, in more than one post. Still and all, you’d think someone else would have noticed that and chosen not to run this rerun strip just now.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/11/07

Now, let’s cast aside our petty differences over Asian stereotypes and dumb names and unrealistic corporate governance procedure. I think we can all agree that panel three is the most awe-inspiringly beautiful depiction of a combover ever set to paper by an artist. Mary Worth team: you’ve been resting on your laurels long enough. The next time Wilbur needs a close-up, you’ve got to raise the bar.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 5/11/07

There’s much to love about today’s TDIET, including, but not limited to, “Doodleville,” “Dancing With Dorks,” “the urge to tear out her vocal cords,” Nurse Nulla using a conveniently placed stack of books as a leaning post, and “Nurse Nulla.” But I’d really like to direct your attention to the “thanx to” box. It’s as if someone held captive by substandard medical care sent a desperate message out to the only person who he knew could help: Al Scaduto.

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Family Circus, 5/9/07

You know, I’m a man of simple pleasures. I’m not a club-hopper or an aficionado of fast cars or speedboats. All I ask for in life is to be left alone with my hobbies — like, say, pretending that the Family Circus household is possessed by demons, and one of those evil spirits is starting to communicate with Dolly through her talking doll, and she’s forcing Jeffy to participate in its plans to massacre the whole town, and a terrified Jeffy runs to tell his mother while the soul-destroyed Dolly and her hellspawn plaything look on blankly, adding him to their slaughter list — and when you they essentially run this as the “joke” in the comic, well, it kills a little of the fun for me, to be honest.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/9/07

“Mrs. Avery, as Avery International’s professional sexy, subservient Asian stereotype, I’ll be easing your pain with a variety of unprintable techniques. If necessary, I will remove these chopsticks from my hair and let my long, luxurious jet-black hair cascade down my back in slow-motion. You’ll have to lead me to my seat, though, because my contract requires me to keep my eyes closed at all times — all the crackers on this board seem to think that’s what Asians look like.”

Has anyone Asian — or, hell, anyone at all — actually used chopsticks to keep their hair up, in a boardroom setting or elsewhere? Brynna Antenna doesn’t count.

Judge Parker, 5/9/07

Barney Google began to slowly and inexorably become Snuffy Smith the day that Barney went down for a vacation in the hill country. Similarly, comics historians will mark May 9, 2007, as the day that Judge Parker began its transformation into Mullet Love, the ongoing story of two star-crossed lovers with gorgeous Kentucky Waterfalls of hair — one bright yellow, one manic panic red — pouring down the backs of their heads. Together, they fight crime, avoid their spurned spouses, and travel the world, occasionally falling on each other in episodes of passionate lovemaking that cause their hockey hair to spin around their faces and tangle together.

Apartment 3-G, 5/9/07

“Yep, coffee’s not helping; time to switch to bourbon. And if that doesn’t work, it’s on to whippits.”

Archie, 5/9/07

I just want to say that I honestly think “Mustard” would be a really cute name for a dog. Also, someone is clearly thinking about boning someone else in that third panel.

Finally, I can’t even bring myself to contemplate the fresh Funky horror, but the Chron has the inside scoop on the roller-coaster of metastasis that we have in store for us. (Thanks to faithful reader Cobra for the tip.)