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Gil Thorp, 6/8/07

Dum dee dum, oh look, it’s Gil Thorp, where the characters are always an oddly drawn band of quasi-humans. Yes, there they are, strangely shaped, but I’m totally used to that by now … I’ll just move on to the final panel and see YEEEARRRGGGHHHH!!!!

Man, I guess Brynna Antenna got sick of being called “Brynna Antenna,” but was unable to conceive of any other hairstyle, and so just decided to go for the Lt. Ilia look. Now that her antennae are gone, all her psychic powers are just radiating out from her shiny bald pate.

The Milford Lady Mudlarks softball team is now officially the jumpiest-to-conclusionist bunch in the comics pages. First they assume that Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp has cancer because of a half-overheard phone conversation, then Brynna Baldie shaves her head in premature solidarity — before finding out whether or not her coach will have to undergo chemo, or even whether the other girls on the team are on board. Of course, since she’s Tyler’s girlfriend, it should come as no surprise that she lurches into ill-advised schemes. Hopefully they’ll get to room together at the mental hospital.

Oh, yeah, speaking of Tyler … the long delayed Self-Clubbing Tyler winner will be announced … MONDAY! So you’ll have all weekend to let your anticipatory excitement BUILD!

Mark Trail, 6/8/07

The wide-eyed, terrified, badly banged Sam Hill we see in panel two is perhaps one of the most wonderful images in recent Mark Trail history, even when the high bar established by the savage duck attack in panel one is taken into consideration. I particularly like the fact that for some reason the space in her open mouth has been left gleaming white. It’s as if she’s simultaneously shouting in terror and gritting her teeth in grim determination.

Her ludicrous facial expression might be best explained not by the swarm of highly trained attack ducks, but by the fact that her cravat is obviously too tight, cutting off blood flow to the head.

Apartment 3-G, 6/8/07

It took long enough, but Apartment 3-G has finally figured out how to make this “Lu Ann Is Hospitalized At Tommie’s Hospital” storyline interesting. Lu An having seizures? BORING! Tommie in her professional environment? BORING! Margo disheveled in a nightie? Now we’re talking. Hopefully we’ll get to see her bathroom preparations (yes, Lu Ann’s in the hospital, but Margo does not just roll out of bed and leave the apartment) so we can see what sort of shampoo she uses to maintain that Mary Tyler Moore/Marilyn Quayle hair flip all night.

Archie, 6/8/07

I thought I’d share with you a little of the code from the algorithm that powers the Archie Joke-Generating Laugh Unit 3000:

if
  assessLameness(joke.this) > Unspeakable
then
  insertDrawing(BettysAssCrack)

Shoe, 6/8/07

Ha ha! It’s funny because Roz’s boyfriend is an alcoholic!

Wait, Roz has a boyfriend?

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/29/07

Ha ha! Awww, Rex doesn’t like mean ol’ Hugh! Rex thinks Hugh’s a bad son! Plus Hugh was not nice to Rex! So Rex has busted out the angry face! It’s OK, Rex, it’s OK, Heather’s got the situation in hand now. Put down the celery before you hurt somebody with it.

Archie, 5/29/07

That Archie! You can totally tell why all the girls are always fighting over him. He’s thrown into a state of naked panic and despair whenever he has to make the simple kinds of choices necessary to function as a human being in society! Speaking of which…

For Better Or For Worse, 5/29/07

For whatever reason — residual affection for a strip I liked in my youth, some vague desire to keep a hold of my dignity — I always feel like I need to step back from full-throated Foob hate, so I’ll try to keep this as rational as possible. It is, in fact, true that buying a house a huge leap, a stressful responsibility. It’s natural to worry that, if your financial situation changes, you might not only lose the house, but all the money you’ve invested in it to that point — a worry that might be all the keener if a big part of your income comes from freelancing and is thus not predictable. And then there are the little costs, like maintenance, that would normally be your landlord’s responsibility that suddenly you have to cover. It’s a Big Deal.

And yet exactly none of this has actually been discussed in the strip. We don’t know why Mikey is so freaked out about buying the house; as far as I can tell, he’s just sitting under some kind of smoldering cloud of existential dread about it. It’s not like he even really had to decide to do it — with the fire and his parents’ machinations, it’s like the choice was made for him! (In real life, this could of course be the very cause of his unease, but again if that’s the case, nothing has been said to that effect.) Today we learn that Mike is in such a state about the prospect of property ownership that he wants to punish his body until his mind shuts down. The turn to booze and drugs is inevitable. If Mike spends all his days in the coming frozen-in-time version of the strip in some sort of dreamy opium haze, every Foob outrage we have suffered to this point will have been worth it.

Judge Parker, 5/29/07

If you’re sympathizing with Sam’s hair-pulling panic in panel three (“The ladies, they’ll just go out with that credit card and come back with three new dresses they don’t need! And an apartment in Paris! Am I right, fellas?”), I must remind you that all of the fabulous wealth that keeps this motley family in the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed at stately Spencer Farms is Abbey’s (inherited, I believe). Perhaps he’s worried that any pinch on the family finances will reveal that his claims to be contributing with his big-shot lawyer’s salary have been nothing but lies. I’ve been reading this strip for two and a half years and I haven’t witnessed anything from him that might qualify as a billable hour.

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Shoe, 5/23/07

There’s something I find deeply unsettling about the lovingly rendered paper coffee cups, complete with sippy lids and little cardboard sleeves, that Roz and her one-off-punchline-providing friend are drinking out of. Maybe it’s because Roz herself is the proprietor of an anachronistic diner in which coffee comes in two varieties — regular and decaf — and is decanted out of a clear glass coffeepot into porcelain mugs, and thus to see her drinking her venti half-caf americcino with steamed milk or whatever seems like a vision of treason. Maybe it’s because everything in this whole elaborate Starbucks-esque setting, with the standard-issue fixings bar in the background and round tables and such, is in fact, like everything else in Shoe, precariously perched on a tree limb, as the foliage in the background indicates.

Unfortunately, the fact that one-off-punchline-providing friend can describe with heavy-lidded indifference the gazes of those who yearn to slice her up and remake her to match their own vision does not, in fact, unsettle me. It’s far from the worst that can happen to you in Shoe. At least nobody is proposing to fry and eat her.

Archie, 5/23/07

See, here’s how you would do this strip: You have Mr. Flutesnoot fiddling around with Bunsen burners and test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks and all sorts of science-y whatnots, and, because he’s a chemistry teacher, you assume that he’s conducting some kind of experiment, but — surprise! — he’s just making coffee! Ha ha, ’cause see, you can do it using a lot of the same equipment!

Or you could have Flutesnoot making coffee with an ordinary coffee-maker, and it would only serve as evidence that Mr. Weatherbee, who no doubt has an assistant to make his coffee for him, is an out-of-touch buffoon. Ha! Buffoon!

Or you could, you know, have all the relevant action obscured by the body of one your characters. Then it won’t make any damn sense at all. Be sure to lavish plenty of attention on the wrinkles around the armpits, though.

9 Chickweed Lane, 5/23/07

OK, so this has quickly gone back from “interesting” to “ever so tiresome,” but I’m glad somebody has finally noted that the ladies of 9 Chickweed Lane, sexy as they may be from the neck down, are a bunch of receding-chinned jawless freaks with monkey faces. If that somebody has to be a unicorn magically dropped into New York, then so be it. It needed to be said.

Mark Trail, 5/23/07

Hey, look, everyone! It’s “Buzzard”! Or, as I like to call him, “Overalled No-Neck Hillbilly Stereotype Stock Character #2”! You might remember ON-NHSSC#2 as the patriarch of the horrifying clan of backwoods petnappers from the winter of 2005-06. He’s wearing a hat now, and his stubble has disappeared, but it’s pretty obviously the same guy. The latter change is probably attributable to his last tangle with Mark, who as we all know can remove facial hair with the raw power of his wrath.