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Apartment 3-G, 11/15/06

The Tommie and Gina storylines have reappeared … with a vengeance! All day before I had a chance to read this, I was seeing comments like “I think I saw this in a porn movie once,” yet I still wasn’t prepared for the oddness. I agree that the last panel doesn’t really make sense unless Gina’s smock-thing doesn’t cover her ass or something and she’s come to make the moves. Because the last person who you should be going to for fashion advice is Tommie, and the last person who should be making snide remarks about your manila smock-thing/sky-blue shirt combo is someone who looks in her closet and says, “Hey, you know what would go great with this dusty pink polo shirt? A gleaming white v-neck sweater!”

Still and all, I’m hoping the two of them go at it post haste. If nothing else, it would get them out of those hideous clothes.

Ziggy, 11/15/06

You know what would have made this cartoon marginally funnier? If we could actually see the mice making off with Ziggy’s cell phone. Or see the antenna sticking out of the mousehole. Or see Ziggy holding an empty cell-phone holder. Or really see anything that would indicate that this wasn’t one of hundreds of photocopies of a single pre-drawn “Ziggy talks to the mice” panel, all awaiting only the addition of “hilarious” dialogue and published at reasonable intervals so as not to be glaringly obvious.

(Note for libel purposes: I’m not saying that Ziggy actually uses photocopied panels instead of coming up with a new one every day. I’m just saying that it would save a lot of work if it did.)

They’ll Do It Every Time, 11/15/06

The funny thing about today’s TDIET is how quickly the cheerful scene in panel one degenerates into full-on Lockhorns-esque dysfunction. Sure, Lugbutt probably should have made up his mind about his culinary choices before he sent wifey down to the kitchen; but then, wifey’s transformation from well-coifed and cheerful to bleary-eyed and exhausted after carrying a single cup of tea up a single flight of stairs smacks of melodrama. I think she’s been nursing the urge to pan-fry Lugbutt’s hide for some time. Do it now, lady! He’s feeble and can’t run! Get the pan!

The important thing about this panel, though, is that it’s been sent in from a resident of New Orleans. Apparently, the citizens of that devastated city have been able to move on from Katrina and once again focus their attention on petty domestic drama. Of course, it’s possible that Lugbutt’s been laid low from exposure to toxic mold blooming in the walls of his flood-ravaged home. Or from cholera.

Archie, 11/15/06

See, this is why Archie should stop wooing Veronica and stop hanging around the obscenely wealthy Lodge family: because their riches are devouring their souls from the inside out. Poor Smithers, who has no doubt served as a faithful family retainer for longer than Veronica has been alive, is not a “who” to her, but a “what.” The odd phrasing of the strip’s punchline might have made sense if at some point Lodge pater had asked “What did Archie spill it on” or some such; as it is, it’s clear that the vast class gulf between Veronica and Smithers has caused her to see him as just another piece of furniture that her family owns. Rise up in revolution, Smithers! You have nothing to lose but your chains!

Family Circus, 11/15/06

Speaking of which, Billy seems to be attending a school run by Communists.

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Ziggy, 11/9/06

See, “diversity” used to be code for “black people,” but now it’s code for “gay people.” This represents the new PC horrorshow that awaits us under a Democratic-controlled Congress. Marriage is between one man and one woman, not a cat and two mice. Sickos.

Mother Goose and Grimm, 11/9/06

Speaking of which, I’m not a biologist or anything, but I’m pretty sure only boy cows have horns, which makes this already disturbing strip even weirder.

The Phantom, 11/9/06

This pretty much takes the cake, though. The dude in skin-tight lycra, the dog sticking its tongue in the drugged, blindfolded woman’s ear, the interrobang … sick, I tell you, sick.

And here’s two soaps from today that it would have been sick to ignore…

Apartment 3-G, 11/9/06

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHO DO YOU THINK MARGO’S “ASSISTANT” IS? Is it Tommie? Lu Ann? Gina? The hobo who saved her life a few years ago? Margo herself in a blonde wig, answering to “Maggie”? I am on tenterhooks, I tell you what.

Mary Worth, 11/9/06

Mary Worth has of course been delicious all week, as Mary seethes inwardly at her coming obsolescence. Panel two may be the moment at which anger turns to self-doubt, the moment when Mary’s steely self-confidence began to soften just a little. More interesting, though, is panel one, in which she appears to be shoveling off-white glop out of bucket onto a cookie sheet. Many of you have wondered why exactly Mary has a thigh-high bench in the middle of her kitchen; the fact that she needs to drop her … food … from about a foot above its target would seem to illustrate how impractical this arrangement is. But I’ll bet she just likes the sound it makes.

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Apartment 3-G, 11/8/06

Panel two of today’s Apartment 3-G is a thrill for Margo lovers everywhere (which, I think it goes without saying, is ALL OF YOU, if you know what’s good for you). She’s moving in for the kill, and looks like she’s either going to ravage Eric Mills’ hapless assistant with red-hot Margo-style smooches or bite off her face. The girl’s facial expression, which is one of terror mingled with excitement, matches this dramatic ambiguity.

Margo’s near-victim bears a striking resemblance to Alan’s barely legal paramour from that infamous party. Did anyone leave that event not tangled up in this boring blue-suited billionaire’s life one way or another?

Margo’s lonely “Oh.” in panel three demonstrates a great use of word balloon punctuation and white space.

For Better Or For Worse, 11/8/06

I imagine a crisis meeting over at Foob Central: “Dammit, people, we’re getting murdered by Funky Winkerbean in the depressing realism department! We need to bring out the big guns!” How else to explain this harrowing plot twist, in which Grandpa Jim’s fully functioning mind is trapped in a shattered shell of a body, unable to communicate and prevent his unbearable and continuous humiliation? I’m going to imagine him remembering the morse code he learned in his days in the Royal Canadian Air Force, desperately tapping out “KILL ME” on his portable tray with a spoon, hoping that Iris will stop smothering him emotionally and start smothering him with a pillow, while Metallica’s “One” blares on the soundtrack.

FW is really going to have to raise its game here. Wally’s gonna have to accidentally blow up a busload of Iraqi orphans and puppies, then shoot himself, if they want to keep up.

Curtis, 11/8/06

I’d like to ignore the usual tomfoolery with Derrick and “Onion” (something that’s all too easy to do) and focus on Curtis’ alarming laughing fit in panel three. I wonder if the word balloon had been predrawn to accommodate some much longer bit of exposition, and the iterative, punctuationless laughter was stuck in there in a fit of horror vacui, or if we are really meant to understand that Curtis mechanically repeated the word “Ha” 25 times.

In a move that further undermines this pair’s fearsome reputation, “Onion” (or maybe it’s Derrick, I don’t know) appears to be taking fashion tips from Dennis the Menace’s Joey.

Mark Trail, 11/8/06

By having Ranger Rick utter the phrase “hold up,” Mark Trail has now successfully deployed more street lingo than Curtis has in its entire run. No, really, take a look at the Curtis strip above. The part where Curtis says, “Oh, I’ll be!”

Spider-Man, 11/8/06

“Or didja ever see Hitler having dinner with a Romulan?” Jesus, this strip is weird.