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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/8/09

Must I take on the burden of keeping comics within the bounds of their self-constructed universes? Look, the chances of Loweezy’s Gossipy Friend Whose Name I Neither Know Nor Care About being acquainted with the still-popular-but-no-longer-red-hot-enough-to-merit-pop-culture-namechecks TV program Gray’s Anatomy are pretty low, seeing as her community’s only contact with the outside world comes from the town’s few lovingly maintained Hoover-era radios. I suppose its a possible that a few of Hootin’ Holler’s more successful moonshiners acquired fancy tee-vee sets back in the day to tune into the Dumont Network; fortunately, after the switchover to digital broadcasting next month, we will be spared any more attempts on the part of Snuffy Smith to engage with modern television programming.

Frankly, I’m more concerned at the sight of a doctor cramming with a basic anatomy textbook just before an appointment. “OK, the hip bone’s connected to the leg bone, the leg bone’s connect to the … to the … damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have prescribed myself so many drugs during med school!”

Judge Parker, 1/8/09

Ah, so Sexy Heidi the Sexy Detective is turning to Sam not for sexy sex, but for emotional comfort. “Sam, I admire the way you just stood by bored and disinterested while we pumped that woman full of bullets. You’ve obviously learned to look death in the eye and not be touched by it, just as you’ve managed to remain detached from all other aspects of the human experience other than your own smug self-satisfaction. Can … can you teach me how not to feel?”

Mark Trail, 1/8/09

[INSERT PREDICTABLE AND DISTASTEFUL BUT COMPLETELY MANDATORY BESTIALITY JOKE HERE]

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Mary Worth, 1/4/09

While Mary Worth has always left a trail of shattered lives behind her, this is one of the first instances I can remember of Mary actually doing battle with someone else for the right to own, meddle in, and destroy a third party’s soul. I love the way that Mary pairs her figurative reflection with looking at her actual reflection. The high stakes of her meddle-war with Frank is indicated by the fact that she’s furiously thought-ballooning about Lynn all the while, when normally she’d just be thinking “There, my bouffant’s surface is perfect, once again. Aren’t I the prettiest?”

Incidentally, the fact that we can see Mary’s reflection rules out certain kinds of undead beings, for those trying to figure out exactly what sort of hellspawn walks the earth known as “Mary Worth.” Meanwhile, in the first panel of the bottom row, Frank’s eyes are beginning to glow red, as he draws strength from his demon master for the final conflict.

Crock, 1/4/09

During the 19th and early 20th centuries, the Algerian population was unable to resist French imperialism militarily, so they were forced to fight back with more devious methods. For instance, one Foreign Legion garrison was lulled into the pleasant haze of hashish addiction by the locals, then wiped out to the man when the batch delivered for New Years celebrations was poisoned.

Family Circus, 1/4/09

Barfy the dog is apparently unable to distinguish between a round-headed lump with an eternal dumb grin on its face and not a single thought in its head and a snowman.

Panel from Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/4/09

This panel shows a way that Snuffy Smith could become relevant to modern audiences: by highlighting the health dangers of meth addiction, which is so sadly prevalent in America’s rural suspender-wearing communities.

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Apartment 3-G, 12/23/08

Oh, Margo! I’m not sure who you’re trying convince. I think it’s pretty clear that you’ve already spent lots of time “exploring” your future husband’s “private domain.”

It’s obvious that I’m talking about Eric’s penis, right? Good.

Anyway, I’d like to say right now that when I finally get around to starting a band, our first album will be called This Isn’t Snooping It’s Serious Business. It will feature the hit single “My Future Husband’s Private Domain.”

Funky Winkerbean, 12/23/08

I tried — I really, really tried — to not think about the last few days (weeks? it seemed like forever) of Les freaking out about his teenage daughter’s budding sexuality as he assessed the sluttiness of her various potential Winterfest outfits. But now that he will apparently be watching her every move on the dance floor, watching with eagle eyes to determine just how far her or her date’s hands venture towards the Forbidden Zones, I feel like I can ignore it no longer.

Naturally, Les will justify his control freakery by reference to his beloved dead wife Lisa, whose sex parts were not under her father’s constant vigilance and who therefore had a baby as a teenager. This blast from his family’s past has led Les to the obvious conclusion — that all women are whores, and that their reproductive processes must, for their own good, be kept under strict control. Whee, this dance is going to be awesome!

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 12/23/08

Sure, because if there’s one thing that helps toddlers sleep well at night, it’s the knowledge that they’re being looked down on by some terrifying grinning space-demon who can see their every move.