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Ziggy, 12/5/08

OK, a confession to get out of the way right off the bat: I laughed, more or less involuntarily, at today’s Ziggy. There, I said it. Not being accustomed to such a reaction, I lingered over the panel for a bit and noticed that “such as it is” on the punchline-sign is in a very different style of handwriting than the text above it — it’s scrawled in a slapdash fashion. Is this mean to indicate that “THIS IS YOUR PARK” is an official notice from Ziggy’s municipality, but “such as it is” is meant to be a graffito of some sort? If so, this reduces the humor content of the strip considerably, as insulting and/or aggressive placards issued by some faceless authority are about the only recurring element in Ziggy that I find tolerable. But then I thought up another scenario: what if the space below “THIS IS YOUR PARK” had originally been left blank by the strip’s artist, who couldn’t think of the right joke put in there, and then he went on some kind of day-long drinking binge, and stumbled back to his drawing board, and at last had an epiphany that yes, “such as it is” was perfect, it would even make the Comics Curmudgeon laugh, that smug asshole, what does he know? And sure, what with the booze the writing came out kind of wonky, but it was true, it did make the Comics Curmudgeon laugh, huzzah! Huzzah for alcohol!

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 12/5/08

Snuffy has bludgeoned one of his many rivals in the lucrative Hootin’ Holler meth trade to death with a frozen chicken. As in the Roald Dahl short story “Lamb to the Slaughter,” he disposes of the gruesome evidence by cooking it up for dinner. However, whereas Dahl’s story traffics in simple irony (the murder weapon is fed to the police investigating the crime), Barney Google and Snuffy Smith goes deeper (not that you would expect anything less): the killer chicken is fed to the local man of God, who is moreover told after the fact of his complicity in the terrible crime. How will the parson keep preaching the good word from the pulpit, knowing the atrocities that he’s participated in?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/5/08

Who’s up for another several weeks of June Morgan being sexily cruel to the help? [Raises hand] Me! Me! I am!

Pluggers, 12/5/08

Pluggers will make up a lot of crazy nonsense sayings to justify the fact that they’re generally too hung over to get to work on time.

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Gasoline Alley, Dennis the Menace, Blondie, and Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 11/24/08

Hey, remember a while back when Blondie hit its 75th birthday party and the whole comics page was forced, apparently at gunpoint, to celebrate that achievement of inertia? Well, today is the 90th anniversary of the launch of Gasoline Alley, and its longevity is being celebrated by the entire industry these three insanely long-running legacy strip: Barney Google and Snuffy Smith (almost as old at 89, though Snuffy Smith himself did not appear until 1934), Blondie (now 78 years old, showing itself still classy with this reach-around), and Dennis the Menace (a relative baby at 57).

The Gasoline Alley strip itself rather nicely gives us a look at the first three men who worked on the feature; we shall know current artist Jim Scancarelli only as a enormous and terrifying disembodied hand, at least until the strip’s 120th anniversary in 2038. Of the tributes, Blondie wonders if it will be on top of its game, with side-splitting joke after side-splitting joke about giant sandwiches and workplace abuse, fifteen years from now; Barney Google transforms beloved Gasoline Alley patriarch Walt into some kind of pinheaded monster from the depths of your worst nightmares; and Dennis the Menace is too boring to merit further typing on my part, so I’ll stop right here.

Mark Trail, 11/24/08

Say, remember last year when Mark had some kind of extremely half-assed flirtation with Sam Hill, sexy biologist, that was entirely one-sided (and not on Mark’s side) and led to absolutely nothing? Well, apparently it elicited lots of angry letters to Mark Trail headquarters about the sanctity of marriage and whatnot, because now every time we get even a glimpse of what I guess is supposed to be the quarter-assed flirtation between Mark and Sue the Confused Industrialist, one or both of them reflexively start blathering on about his joyless, asexual marriage. Today Jack Elrod has decided to dedicate his artistic skill to one of those awesome crabs with one freakishly large claw, and who can blame him when his other option is to draw these two dopes totally not coming on to one another?

Aren’t those giant crab-claws the result of sexual selection? Perhaps this symbolizes something about this slow-motion love triangle — like, maybe Cherry is about to show up and bludgeon Sue to death with her enormous forearm.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/24/08

Well, our long-promised Morgan Family Cruise Boat Adventure is finally here, after a brief interlude for yachting hijinks (this being Rex Morgan, three and a half months really does count as “brief”). Anyway, we’ll soon find out what sort of nautical medical drama Rex will have to deal with on this dreadful voyage — Legionnaires’ disease? nausea? boredom? — but for the moment, I’d just like to point out that in the world Rex Morgan, M.D., the taxicab industry is dominated by Rastafarians, or at least by dudes in rasta hats.

Herb and Jamaal, 11/24/08

Ha ha! It’s funny because Mexican food makes defecating uncomfortable!

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Apartment 3-G, 11/22/08

Tommie’s long period of non-dating is showing, I’m afraid. I don’t consider Gary’s baffling panic at the prospect of his love for Tommie going public to be typically male or typically anything other than typically baffling. Still, I’m glad Tommie has reached this emotional point, because it means that we get to see her delightful rage in the third panel of today’s strip. Tommie’s fist wobbling menacingly at the end of her skinny forearm must be just one manifestation of the anger radiating out through the neighborhood; her foul mood is also causing the temperature in the air to drop, prompting Margo to clutch her collar closed, lest she catch a chill.

Gil Thorp, 11/22/08

Marty Moon is right! People keep tuning in when I tee off on Gil Thorp, so I don’t see why things should be any different for his crappy basement-studio TV sports show. Just a word of advice, Marty: you probably don’t want to focus on Gil every day, as that territory is already well-covered for the Thorp fanatics by the superb This Week In Milford.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 11/22/08

“No, really! My new marriage is already a joyless hell! Why … why do you keep laughing? For the love of God, why?”