Archive: Beetle Bailey

Post Content

Panels from Hagar the Horrible, 4/23/17

Hagar and his clan may have recently converted to Christianity, but that doesn’t meant they don’t occasionally dabble in a little paganistic future-scrying now and then.

Panels from Beetle Bailey, 4/23/17

File today’s Beetle Bailey dialogue under “phrases that no human being has ever actually said aloud and yet will haunt me for days.”

Panels from Blondie, 4/23/17

If there’s a sadder commentary on what passes for pleasure in this modern age, I don’t know what it is!

Post Content

Mary Worth, 4/12/17

Panel one of today’s Mary Worth is a great illustration of why I love Mary Worth and soap opera strips in general, which I realize makes me sound insane but isn’t it nice that we’ve all found each other, friends? Anyway, what makes it great is that it offers a deep dive into the midset of someone who’s deciding to sit down. “Hmm, I’ve been holding my body vertically and using my legs to move from place to place for some time … but what if I were to lower myself onto one of these pieces of furniture, which seem to have been explicitly designed for that purpose? Why, it seems obvious that I’d expend less energy that way, albeit at the price of remaining stationary for a limited period of time! What do I have to lose?”

Beetle Bailey, 4/12/17

The art in Beetle Bailey has always been, uh, let’s say deliberately simplistic. This means that Miss Buxley’s standard-issue Little Black Dress is actually just an excuse to draw an hourglass figure and then fill in most of it from neck to thighs with the paintcan tool in Photoshop. But for today’s joke (“joke”) to work (“work”), she needed to looks stunning. More stunning than usual. And so, in dedication to their craft (“craft”), the employees of Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC have taught themselves to draw cleavage. Heroic efforts all around here!

Dick Tracy, 4/12/17

Meanwhile, over in Dick Tracy, there are, uh, two ladies named Margie, with ironic nicknames, and … the programs for the convention are here???? I will bring you more reports as this fraught situation develops.

Gil Thorp, 4/12/17

Oh God … her hand … with each high five it has absorbed the life force of the hands it strikes against … growing more powerful … larger … already it’s big enough to reach from her forehead to her sternum … and nothing can stop it … nothingoh God it’s already too late

Post Content

Mark Trail, 3/31/17

Whoa, whoa, whoa there Mark Trail, after boring, interminable days of black-footed ferret and prairie dog survey talk and even more boring, interminable days of Mark taking Rusty fishing and promising to take Rusty and Cherry on a trip to Mexico at some unspecified time in the future, which was so boring and interminable that I didn’t even bother discussing it here, we have some abrupt whiplash as we’re suddenly thrust into the seedy, violent South Dakota underworld. I guess Johnny and Mark are going to do less ferret/prairie dog counting and more punching and/or avoiding getting shot! It would be “too bad” if they fell victim to gunplay.

Gil Thorp, 3/31/17

Wait wait hold up: Ken Brown’s mom is the same judge who put erstwhile Most Unpleasant Mudlark Barry “Darth” Bader’s dad in jail last year? Frustratingly, I didn’t post any of the strips where she appears, but I’m pretty sure this is her, plus how many Mudlarks could possibly have judge moms, anyway? Sure, she her name is “Hiatt,” not Brown, but a liberal feminazi who refuses to take her husband’s name is exactly the sort of judicial activist who thinks an upstanding businessman who maybe had a drink or two should go to prison just because he killed someone with his car.

Beetle Bailey, 3/31/17

Man, if you need a quick primer on the priorities of the staff of Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC, compare the loving, idyllic representation of a golf course in panel two to the featureless void that is General Halftrack’s office in panel one.

Mary Worth, 3/31/17

“Oh, you welcome all helpful hints?” asks Mary. Her eyes glow a dull red. “You’re voluntarily requesting helpful hints from me,” she says. Her jaw unhinges and the top of her head flips back, revealing an infinitely black maw. “I have so many helpful hints to give you. So many.” A terrible fluttering of filthy wings blots out first all other sounds and then the sun, yet somehow they can still hear her. “SO MANY. SO HELPFUL.