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B.C., 12/8/12

The current B.C. management seems perversely intent on taking the gimmick essentially designed for clip art reuse — “character reads joke out of a book sitting on a rock” — and actually put some effort into it. Should the Wiley’s Dictionary rock be moved down by the seashore, so B.C./Thor/maybe other blond caveman whose name I don’t know can enjoy the pleasant breezes through the beach grass along with his terrible four-word joke? Sure, why not!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/8/12

What does it take to turn Rex’s omnipresent supercilious scowl into an extremely restrained smile? His inferiors recognizing that he deserves free stuff, of course! I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really care about marine mammals one way or the other, but I assume he’ll still sit there in the stands, watching the orca-frolic, thinking “Yes, this … this is my due.”

Apartment 3-G, 12/8/12

Wow, so Greg’s been chosen to play James Bond, one of the most famous and high-profile roles in all of entertainment, and Margo hadn’t heard anything about it? He must have a terrible publicist.

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Apartment 3-G, 12/3/12

I feel like this is a perfect opportunity to emphasize one of the most unbelievable A3G plot developments in years: namely, that Greg, a vaguely handsome American actor who not only hired Margo Magee as his publicist but also bought a co-op apartment in her so-so building — is the new James Bond. Today’s strip will disabuse everyone of any notions they might have about top-tier actors living a “glamorous lifestyle” or whatever. Nope, here’s Greg late at night, rambling around his apartment, still wearing his electric blue suit jacket, his yellow tie still knotted tight. On his nightstand: a pile of books, a framed picture of his publicist, and an empty jar of protein supplements. He wanders into the next room, wondering, not for the first time, who talked him into the mauve curtains, and what exactly this piece of furniture was that came up all the way to his armpits. Ah, well, it’s a good place to keep heaping glasses of scotch, just waiting for a moment of melancholy.

Family Circus, 12/3/12

I really wish that the joke in this Family Circus panel had made a bit more sense, because then I wouldn’t have stared at it as long as I have. And if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have noticed some unsettling things. Like how Mommy Keane’s hands, shoulders, and bosom seem freakishly large compared to her tiny, reed-like neck and (surprisingly, considering the anatomy of her offspring) smallish head. Or the window, which looks not out onto some soothing winter scene but just into empty, featureless blackness, with a green Christmas wreath/portal floating in the void, beckoning the unwary to pass through into yuletide nothingness. “How ’bout you tell me what you want for Christmas,” says Jeffy, “and then I’ll tell you what I want. And then you tell me what you want.” [Mommy’s head gets smaller] “And then I’ll tell you what I want.” [The wreath begins to spin, emitting a thrum just below the lowest register of human hearing that you can feel in your guts] “Tell me what you want.” [Mommy’s hands are the size of dinner plates now, and her head is no bigger than a golf ball, her tiny mouth moving and squeaking incomprehensibly] “Me want you want.” [madness madness madness CHRISTMAS IS COMING CHRISTMAS IS COMING]

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Apartment 3-G, 11/27/12

There’s trouble in paradise, if by “paradise” you mean the weird workplace romance between Margo and Evan. Evan thinks that he can be cold to our gal Magee just because he’s used her sexual jealousy to steal away her clients for his aunt’s agency and has thus achieved all his goals. He’s about to learn that Margo only makes time with betas when they provide sexy massages and other benefits, and when they decide to withhold those benefits, Margo decides to withhold their paychecks and/or oxygen.

Spider-Man, 11/27/12

Spider-Man, meanwhile, is undercover in Las Vegas, trying to figure out what crimes Kraven the Hunter is plotting. His patented detective technique has mostly consisted of lurking around Kraven and sulking while Kraven practices his animal act, foils purse-nappers, and does other non-criminal things. It’s not particularly sophisticated! Thus, even though Kraven has introduced two monkey with names that make it so obvious that a third will appear soon that he might as well just call them “Monkey 1” and “Monkey 3”, we need Peter to thought-balloon this information, because otherwise we readers might worry that he’s failing to pick up on it, as he fails to pick up on most things.

One aspect of Peter being sullen about Kraven’s fantastic life in Las Vegas has been Peter being sullen about Kraven’s success with the ladies. This is kind of ironic because the very first Spider-Man storyline covered on this blog featured Kraven trying and failing to woo the one lady dumb enough to marry Peter Parker! They’re like an ourobouros of loserdom, these two. (Note from the commentary on that old post that I was still trying to grapple with just what Newspaper Spider-Man was all about back in those days.)

Dennis the Menace, 11/27/12

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