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Gil Thorp, 2/5/07

It’s good to see that the revolutionary struggle that Steve Luhm and Hadley V. Baxendale waged for gender equality two years ago has transformed Milford High athletics into a gender-blind paradise. Hadley and Steve may have left Milford behind for higher learning at Vassar (where they are pursuing degrees in Women’s Studies and Anthropology, respectively), but their legacy is felt as the boys prepare to go cheer on the Lady Mudlarks in a nurturing, mutually supportive environment. More troubling is the … precipitation … in the first panel. Is that confetti coming down in the middle of the game against New Thayer? Or … snow? Is it snowing indoors? My God, has the girls’ athletic program, in budgeting decisions forced by the ultra-liberal 9th Circuit Court of Appeals’ interpretation of Title IX, eaten up the resources that should by rights be used to patch the roof on the gym where manly competition takes place? DAMN YOU, FEMINAZIS! DAMN YOU TO HELL!

Slylock Fox, 2/5/07

This edition of Slylock Fox presents an intriguing meeting of the realistic and the cartoonish, as the bowler-cap-and-shorts-wearing bright yellow Max Mouse peers nervously through the gloom at his much more lifelike feral counterpoint, who presumably spends less time aiding detective work and enjoying co-ed sleepovers with lady mice named “Melody” and more time eating garbage and being poisoned. Similarly pleasing and realistically drawn is the sinister, multitentacled furnace. As for the mystery itself, the solution is rather clever, though I imagine that whoever comes down to turn the furnace on will be less likely to provide clues to Slylock and Max to help them catch the thief and more likely to shriek and try to hit them with a broom.

B.C., 2/5/07

Ha! It’s funny because … there’s … a pit with a huge pile of … dismembered human legs. Or, um, parts of human legs, anyway. Um. Funny. Ha. Um.

Curtis, 2/5/07

Dear Curtis:

• Compton.
• Philly.
• The distance between the two.

Here to help.

The Family Circus, 2/5/07

Years later, renowned developer William Keane, a close friend to the Secretary of the Interior, stood on the ridgeline and watched the bulldozers do their work, transforming this part of the former Yellowstone National Park into the Estates at Yellowstone™. As the formerly rugged ground was graded into the smooth surfaces necessary to build the broad arterials, looping drives, and nestled cul de sacs that would define the geography of this exclusive suburban community, a small smile played across his lips, as if some ancient anger had finally been soothed.

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Spider-Man, 1/13/07

The secret fear of anyone in a profession that might be broadly labeled as “helpful” is that they’ll do such a good job that they’ll be rendered obsolete. For instance, for my non-comics-mocking job, I for the most part edit material written by and for computer programmers; deep down, I worry that my skillful and helpful suggestions will eventually sink in, and the geeks of the world will soon be sending grammatical, well structured, easy-to-read prose to publishers worldwide, rendering my services superfluous; this is why I’m trying to milk as much cash from the comics gig as I can. Police officers presumably fret that one day they’ll eliminate all crime everywhere, freeing up tax dollars to go towards city-subsidized public bocce courts. Perhaps this is why cops turn corrupt: it’s actually part of their union rules, so that there’s always crime to fight.

For superheroes, it’s not cash at stake, since any one of them could make big money on the sideshow circuit; rather, it’s their intrinsic sense of self-worth. Spider-Man’s own ego is pretty shaky: he plummets into a pointless pit of hypermacho self-loathing every time he realizes that his wife makes more than he does. Thus, it should come as no surprise that he positively revels in Los Angeles’ sky-high crime rate as the only cure to his sense of existential despair. Sure, it’s apparently just some extra from a gay pirate porno film dabbling in a little purse snatching, but whiny whiny Peter Parker will take emotional validation from wherever he can get it.

Marvin, 1/13/07

Note to cartoonist everywhere: Most of the characters in your feature may just crap in their pants instead of into a toilet like civilized people, but doesn’t mean that you can repeatedly make jokes about it, OK? Just … just trust me on this. It’s not acceptable. God help us all if this spreads to the folks at the other end of the age spectrum in Gasoline Alley or Momma.

B.C., 1/13/07

OK, see, the first boomerang joke was mildly amusing. The second is loopy and weird, and sort of indicates that Johnny Hart has the idea of a boomerang sort of stuck in his mind like a bit of chicken between two teeth, and he’s idly working at it with his tongue, and we have to watch the results. And it’s a boomerang. Not something interesting and relevant and funny. A boomerang. Troubling.

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B.C., 1/12/07

I … I thought B.C. was funny today, kinda. It made me laugh.

I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future.

Judge Parker, 1/12/07

So in between the “Randy Parker gay election smear” storyline and the “Abbey attempts to stop Neddy from going wild in Paris” storyline, Judge Parker’s been giving us little glimpses of this “Old biddy’s butler is sick so she hires a temp butler” storyline, which, I think, hooks up with the others because the old biddy is in Paris and is somehow a relative of Abbey and/or Neddy and will be the sexy twosome’s hostess in the City of Light. Anyway, I’ve been pretty amused by the whole idea of a butler temp agency — believe me, having worked on and off as an office temp to make extra cash while I was in grad school, standing stone-faced at attention awaiting the orders of some septuagenarian aristocrat would probably be more enjoyable than, say, calling a list of phone numbers to make sure they were still fax lines and hearing that horrible SCREEEEEEE every time — but my amusement ground to a halt when I saw the horrifying, soulless visage of “Mr. Hart” in panel three. At best, he’s a cybernetic automaton, impersonating a human for some mysterious purpose; at worst, he’s a demon from below hell, sent to reap the souls of all concerned. Plus, he’s Canadian, so: super scary.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/12/07

Yeah, Niki, you did the “right thing” by calling June. That Elvis was probably going to take you for a “ride.” He’s one shady “character.” He probably … what? Oh, there’s someone here who wants to talk to you:

Margo! Do you kiss your comical immigrant mother with that mouth? I … I can’t control her, folks, I’m sorry.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 1/12/07

What it’s like to be me: I just spent ten minutes staring at this panel trying to figure out if this is the first ever black person in TDIET. Whatever the case, her butt is disproportionately and disturbingly large.

Pluggers, 1/12/07

Plugger refrigerators are full of sexual predators.