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Beetle Bailey, 1/10/07

I’m sorry, Beetle Bailey, I think you misunderstood me. I said your lame jokes make me want to vomit, not that I’d like to hear some lame jokes about vomit.

This may be the most disgusting Beetle Bailey ever, which is saying a lot in a strip that focuses so heavily on the Halftracks’ sex life. Still, I have an unaccountable urge to try to make some sort of sense of it. Are we meant to understand that:

• Gen. Halftrack was so literally sickened by Lt. Fuzz’s by-the-book, all-school-smarts-no-street-smarts, over-footnoted, armchair-general report that he registered disgust the way a real man’s man would: by emptying the contents of his stomach onto it?
• Gen. Halftrack read the report and was so shocked by how out-of-touch he (the General) was from the realities on the ground, both in Camp Swampy and in the unravelling military situation overseas, that he vomited on the report in terror?
• Gen. Halftrack was very, very drunk?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/10/07

I can’t even begin to tell you how disturbing I find the third panel of Rex Morgan, M.D., here. I know intellectually that Elvis is supposed to be in a shadow … a shadow that denotes his own sinister nature. But he sure looks like he’s wearing a ski mask — or, God help me, a leather gimp mask. Since Gruff But Kindly Landlady Lady knows exactly who this chump is, the only possible reason Elvis would have for putting such a thing on would be to up the squick factor. (Actually, Mrs. C. just offered another possibility: “‘Scuse me if I wear my ski mask while you get that … it’s cold out here in the hallway.”)

You’ll notice that I have not been following the antics of these meth-addled losers very closely of late. There comes a time in every RMMD plotline when my interest peaks, and it’s all downhill after that, no matter how many car chases and SWAT team shootouts ensue. In the Troy storyline, that point came during Rex and Troy’s Big Gay Golf game. In the the current plot, it came during June’s Mrs. Robinson/Mrs. Letourneau sequence with Niki. I realize that the last two sentences have really made me sound like a pervert, but I’m going to post them anyway.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/10/07

Yes, because if your mother works outside the home, you’ll turn out to be an emotionally crippled terrorist. Just like all the 9/11 terrorists, who came from countries with strong feminist movements and equal participation of women in the workforce. Welcome to 2007, everybody!

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Beetle Bailey, 1/4/05

This cartoon made me tingly, but not in a good way.

Hi and Lois, 1/4/07

Dot and Ditto seem to be adapting well to their parents’ loveless sham of a marriage.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/4/07

If someone’s physical agony is the set-up to someone else’s wistful little joke, this must be Funky Winkerbean.

Luann, 1/4/07

This disturbs me so very, very much that I’d rather see what wacky antics Puddles has gotten himself into this week. Please. Cut away to Puddles. Now. Please.

Oh, also: if you’d like to know what Dr. Jeff’s up to in the ‘Nam, faithful reader Smitty Smedlap has the answer. (Scroll down to where it says “UPDATE”.)

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Beetle Bailey, 12/20/06

And Beetle Bailey’s queasy, uncomfortable treatment of sexuality continues apace. (See here, here, and here for more of it, if you dare.) There’s an increasingly disturbing undercurrent of sexual mismatch in the strip, as various desperate plays for intimacy are parried by hostility, apathy, or restrictive military regulations against sexual harassment and/or gayness. Since they’re denied by their cruel overlords the Walkers either the right to get it on with one another or to experience the catharsis of combat, it’s no wonder the denizens of Camp Swampy are such emotional wrecks.

Apartment 3-G, 12/20/06

Worry not, friends: we are only privy to these uncharacteristically humble meanderings through the cartoon magic of thought balloons; no other A3G character will ever learn of them, since Margo shuns human intimacy and all other forms of weakness. I’m just charmed to find out that she refers to herself by her last name in her negative self-talk.

Gil Thorp, 12/20/06

With Stormy Hicks and Stumpy Ritter bundled safely off to the Naval Academy Prep School and the Paralympics, respectively, it’s time for a new storyline in Gil Thorp. This of course inevitably involves confusion and chaos, since it can take days or weeks before anyone can tell what the hell is going on. At first I thought that our Syracuse-branded sweatshirt fan was ex-hobo Ted Pearse, but it’s actually the noted “Lisa Wyche.” Perhaps we’ll get an intriguing plot involving same-sex loving on the girl’s basketball team, or at least parental disapproval of tomboyishness. No matter what, though, I need to see as much of Lisa’s terrifying space alien mother as humanly possible.

Luann, 12/20/06

Allow me to translate, Puddles: you aren’t getting jack for Christmas. It’s a good thing you have some biped friends, or else you’d be in a burlap sack at the bottom of a river. Capisce? Now leave Santa the hell alone.