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Hagar the Horrible, 4/13/06

Ah, it’s tax season, so what better opportunity for Hagar the Horrible to deploy an incomprehensible gag about tax collectors! Note that in panel one Hagar is blase about this radical change in tax policy, while Helga looks shocked and appalled that the royal government has decided to abandon a progressive income tax. Presumably the change was pushed through by fat-cat campaign contributors whose portfolios were heavy on capital gains-producing investments and low on foliage.

Anyway, the joke, such as it is, revolves around the sheer number of leaves on the The Horribles’ trees, and the sky-high tax bills that will no doubt result. This strikes me as the sort of thing that the artist thought was a great idea until he suddenly found himself in the position of having to draw all the damn leaves. So, he loses points on foresight, but kudos to him for following through to the bitter, hand-cramping end anyway.

Apartment 3-G, 4/13/06

How little respect does Apartment 3-G get from my hometown paper, the Baltimore Sun? Well, first they tried to cancel it, though obviously the outcry was too great for them to get away with that. Now I find out that the writing duties for the strip changed some time ago (Lisa Trusiani’s out, Margaret Shulock’s in) and the Sun has yet to change the byline in the paper. For shame! I had to find out by seeing that the Apartment 3-G article on Wikipedia was updated, which fact of course entails the disturbing corollary that there are people out there who care even more about this strip than I do and update its Wikipedia article when its authors change. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that the author changeover happened right around here, when there was this weird abrupt wrapping up and yet the next storyline ended up continuing the previous one instead of just imposing the usual mind-wipe on all its characters.

Anyway, this has been a long-winded way of saying that if we can count on the new author to keep on creating bizarre and simultaneously sexy and slightly unnerving scenarios like “Let’s admire Tommie in Nina’s bridal veil and a polo shirt under an sweater,” then I for one welcome her with open arms.

(Oh, and confidential to King Features: It’s fine that you didn’t bother to contact me this time, but when Margaret gets tired of this gig in two or three years, I am totally available. Just FYI.)

Mary Worth, 4/13/06

Lou’s thought balloon is no “My very own meth lab,” and in fact I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean, but sure sounds sinister, doesn’t it? It should rightly be followed by maniacal laughter.

Lou: Yes, you’re right, hon! We do share everything!

Lou thought balloon: [And we always will.]

Lou: Heh he. Moo ha ha. MOOHOHOHO HA HA! HA HA! MOO HA HA!!!!

Kelly thought balloon: [God damn, that freak likes pie a little too much.]

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Get Fuzzy, 4/8/06

Considering the amount of energy that commentors put into the discussion, I feel obliged to weigh in with my opinion on this week’s Get Fuzzy, which, with the conclusion finally revealed, I must say is: a swing and a miss. Still, Get Fuzzy is never about the punchline; “He never did tell good stories,” and Bucky’s deranged attempt to look philosophical, paw gestures included, in panel two, are each funnier than anything that’s happened in Hi and Lois, ever.

Meanwhile, Apartment 3-G’s happy trinity is enjoying a group hug:

Notice the blinding radiance being emitted by Margo, the central figure, proving once again her quasi-divine status. With that topknot, she’s looking positively Buddha-like. Notice also that it’s really mostly Margo hugging Lu Ann, with Tommie, as usual, desperately hoping someone will notice that she’s still there.

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That’s right! I couldn’t settle one just one, so I’ve got four comics for today! I hope this is storing up goodwill against those days when I don’t post anything at all.

Apartment 3-G, 4/6/06

Tommie’s secret thought balloon in panel three: “Ugh … Lu Ann’s self-actualization … so boring … must pinch neck … to keep myself awake …” Fortunately, she’s a medical professional, and won’t accidentally cut off the bloodflow to her brain and collapse in a heap on the floor. Not that it would stop Lu Ann from nattering on.

9 Chickweed Lane, 4/6/06

Yeah, go ahead, show him the address. After all, he’s a priest! And we all know that they never do anything disreputable or pervy. No sir.

(So I’m going to hell for that. But I was going anyway, so I might as well enjoy the ride.)

Family Circus, 4/6/06

So this is the cookie aisle, right? And all the boxes are arranged on the shelf so that their fronts, with their lovingly detailed close-up pictures of delicious, delicious cookies, are turned so as to be largely invisible to hungry shoppers, while their sides, with detailed information about the massive amounts of fat, industrial chemicals, and animal byproducts in said cookies, are prominently displayed for all to see. Plus, the boxes are all a muted brown. Where do these people shop, the Depressing Store?

Also (and this next paragraph is an extended shout-out to my professional linguist homies over at the Language Log, who have linked to me several times despite my near-total absence of linguistics content), I’ve always found the verb construction Mom’s deploying here pretty stilted and weird. It’s a verb of being governing a negative infinitive, which makes it … well, hell, if I knew that, I’d be writing “I analyze syntax so you don’t have to,” or, you know, the Language Log, instead of this thing. I reached back a decade and rummaged around my half-remembered memories of Latin for a while and came out with the phrase “hortatory subjunctive,” but I don’t think that’s right. Anyway, it does have a certain advantage in that saying “Don’t open it until you get home” would make her look pretty dumb, since he’s already opened it. This way she gets to make a general statement of fact without having to either ignore or explicitly acknowledge the reality of her greedy, gobbly, smarmy little brat of a son.

Gil Thorp, 4/6/06

I’m going to hazard a guess that a year from now the Rap-Dog is still going to be fetching menthols and Mello Yello for his overbearing trailer-bound Momma. Either that or he will have killed and taxidermied her, though even then he’ll probably still be alternately cowering from her wrath and having sullen arguments with her in his mind. Come to think of that, he might very well be doing that already.

It’s hard to stay mad at a woman whose shirt is decorated with tasty Doritos, though. Mmmm … Doritos.