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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 11/22/09

Wow, that big-eyed grinning severed teddy bear head in the third panel is certainly one of the more horrifying things I’ve seen today, yet it’s worth noting that, as the first panel shows, it’s only slightly less frightening while dangling detached from a dog’s jaws than it was when firmly attached to its original body. I can’t imagine ever giving such a nightmare-fueling monstrosity to a child, but I suppose that Li’l Tater will see worse things in the cesspool of incest and clan feuds that is Hootin’ Holler, so one might as well accustom the lad to horror from the get-go. And so why not attach the teddy bear head to what I assume is the skin of a real bear in some sort of unsettling hybrid? (The question of whatever became of the real head originally attached to the bearskin rug is best not thought about at any length.)

I do have to admit that the fifth panel, in which Loweezy holds the bear head gingerly by the ears and regards it dubiously while her useless husband cheerfully wanders off to get drunk on corn likker and then shoot at things, is a little masterpiece.

Mary Worth, 11/22/09

Well, it looks like Delilah’s sudden and discombobulating reappearance this week is really just meant to serve as a sort of a coda to Adrian and Scott’s story, the relevance of which I’d have an easier time parsing if I could remember what exactly the point of Delilah’s story was in the first place. Uh, true love triumphs over adversity, given enough time? Yeah, let’s go with that. Mostly I just feel bad that poor Leonard Cohen had to get dragged into this; he, along with Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova and Daniel Johnston, are victims of this strip’s ongoing attempt to destroy the reputation of various hipster indie musicians by associating them with Mary Worth.

Crankshaft and Funky Winkerbean, 11/22/09

A man tries to relax by rediscovering his favorite music, only to receive an unwelcome reminder of his own mortality; another man suffers from recurring stress nightmares, years after being forced to retire from the job that prompted them, and wonders when they’ll finally stop haunting him. A relaxing Sunday afternoon in the Funkyverse, everybody!

Mark Trail, 11/22/09

“The ocean without kelp is like the Earth without trees. That’s why we’re harvesting all the kelp for chemical and industrial purposes. Soon there will be no more kelp, just like there will soon be no more trees!”

Panel from Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/22/09

I thought that those of you who don’t read Rex Morgan except when I mention it here might enjoy this panel, which features Tim throttling the hapless Cue, who soon provided the requested information. See, torture works! Specifically, Cue told Tim that Henry and Pearl had wandered off, which means that we’ll have to endure yet more oldster pursuit across various waterlogged golf courses.

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Spider-Man, 11/10/09

“I dunno, I guess I thought … he put people to sleep? You know, like the mythical figure you tell your kids about? ‘Mr. Sandman, Bring Me A Dream,’ and all that? But this is just a man … who turns into sand … and who calls himself ‘the Sandman.’ I mean … huh. It’s kind of a little too on the nose, isn’t it?”

Judge Parker, 11/10/09

So, wait, Frank D’Vito’s widow is a leggy, amoral blonde who lounges about her mansion wearing a dress so short and tight that she would find it literally impossible to sit down? I for one am totally shocked to see such a development in Judge Parker.

Mary Worth, 11/10/09

“Oh my God, he has … rightlegitis! And Scott’s father’s right leg was so shapely, too! Damn you, you smack-dealing bastards! Damn you straight to hell!”

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 11/10/09

“BUT I FIGGER YORE EYESIGHT MUST BE PRETTY KEEN, T’ COMPENSATE FOR YOUR BAD HEARING! YOU CAN HEAR ME IF’N I SHOUT LIKE THIS, RIGHT?”

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Spider-Man, 10/28/09

I’ll admit that I’ve been disappointed with Bigshot as a sinister adversary, as his name seems to indicate only his somewhat larger than average girth and his sole apparent superpower is the ability to wear that suit without self-consciousness. But now we’re beginning to see that below the surface of cheerful good-natured criminality lurks almost unspeakable depravity. In order to force the reformed Sandman to return to his life of crime, Bigshot has kidnapped the mutant’s daughter — an obvious and time-tested tactic. Presumably Sandman will rob a bank or two, little Sandy will be released unharmed, and everyone’s comes out a winner, right?

But wait, what’s this? Is Bigshot having is awful minions pollute li’l Sandy’s mind … with literacy? Imagine the scene: Poppa Sandman’s all like, “Hey, Sandy, let’s tune in to NBC to watch the hilarious and insightful Jay Leno, just like we do every weekday at 10 pm!” but then Sandy’s all “No way, dad! I’m still working my way through this week’s New York Review of Books!” And just like that, a once-solid father-daughter relationship begins to founder. Bigshot, you are a monster.

Momma, 10/28/09

Upon reading this strip, my first thought was, “Hey, Danny is supposed to be one of Francis’s no-good friends, right?” This implies some kind of intriguing family drama here, with Marylou going after (and by “going after” I mean “attempting to strangle”) a member of her little (?) brother’s coterie of losers. I was just about to start plumbing the depths of my archives or the Chronicle’s pages to confirm Danny’s identity, but then I had an epiphany: I had spent the maximum reasonable amount of time thinking about Momma today. Sure, this whole comics thing is fun now, but when you’re trying to cross-reference the identities of Momma’s mushy scribbles — and then, once you do, maybe update the strip’s Wikipedia page with your findings, just in case you or the Internet community at large has need of this data in the future — well, that’s when people start staging interventions.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 10/28/09

I’m sorry, residents of Hootin’ Holler would have to trudge three or four miles down rocky hillsides to the flatlands in order to get any kind of advanced schoolin’, so I refuse to believe that any resident of this impoverished hamlet would be able to deal with advanced math like “fractions” — or, for that matter, to form coherent thoughts without verbalizing them.