Post Content

Beetle Bailey, 7/6/07

Sarge is completely unimpressed by this rampant display of heterosexuality, showing no more interest in the mating ritual between Killer and Random Brunette Nurse than the average person might in baboons showing each other their big red asses on the Discovery Channel.

Pearls Before Swine, 7/6/07

But if you do want to get Sarge interested, you mess with his territory. Zero’s trip home is quickly going to turn into a trip straight into the middle of Anbar Province.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/6/07

Help each other Commitment You ready for that? I don’t know much about this stuff JESUS GOD THIS DEFIES PARODY

Apartment 3-G, 7/6/07

Damn it, I was really on a roll there. Hmm, let’s see … if the Apartment 3-G girls were actual young women living in Manhattan, they’d almost certainly have some gay male friends, whose encounters with Ruby would be good for some larfs. “Ah do declare, Jason and Cory are just as thick as thieves! And so handsome! Ah can’t believe none of you young ladies have made a play for one of those boys!”

Anyway, I mainly wanted to comment on this strip because, as several of you pointed out, it provides further evidence that this woman is a relative of Lu Ann, as she apparently doesn’t know how to read.

Post Content

Herb and Jamaal, 6/2/07

In an attempt to put a fresh and non-copyright-infringing spin on a joke that’s been cracking ’em up on the message boards outside churches around the country since 1998, today’s Herb and Jamaal ties itself into serious theological and philosophical knots. “Knee mail” (i.e., prayer) is of course the preferred method of making contact with a deity of the type that most religious folks today believe in: a God of pure spirit who exists on a plane separate from the physical reality we inhabit. Thus, Rev. Croom’s answer to Herb’s question (about which he looks rather disgustingly satisfied, incidentally) doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense. We already talk to the spiritual God via knee mail, rev; Herb wants to know how to make contact with a hypothetical physical God. My suggestion: poke Him with a stick. Not too hard, though.

Blondie, 6/2/07

If I were a clerk at The Book Barn (or, well, you can’t see the “k”, so it might be The Boon Barn or The Boob Barn, but never mind that) and a customer brought me a copy of every mid-sized book in the store with a cover the same exact shade of blue, my first response would be less “You sure enjoy all kinds of different books” and more “Sir, I know that obsessive-compulsive disorder can be a life-afflicting problem, but the first step is to admit that you need help.”

Beetle Bailey, 6/2/07

So … does this strip make any sense to anyone, anywhere, at any level of familiarity with golf? I thought I had it — Gen. Halftrack is about to be caught cheating by Lt. Flap and Hitler-Mustached Mid-Level Staff Officer Whose Name And Rank I Forget Or Perhaps Never Actually Knew as they Keep On Truckin’ towards the reader, and Lt. Fuzz is demanding advancement in rank in exchange for his silence. But if Flap and H-MM-LSOWNARIFOPNAK have already seen the general’s perfidy, then Lt. Fuzz’s collaboration won’t help matters; if they haven’t, then their presence in the second panel, which seems to be the incentive for Fuzz’s sudden blackmail bid, is irrelevant. O wiser heads on the Internet, answer this conundrum!

A more philosophical question: Why are these two golfing together in the first place? Usually Halftrack is willing to humiliate himself by hiding under his desk or hanging out the window just to avoid a few loathsome moments spent with his subordinate. Surely any golf outing with the two of them would result in the younger man being brained by a club somewhere on the front nine.

Post Content

Beetle Bailey, 5/30/07

While I’m not a morning person and sympathize with Beetle’s attitude, I’m a little unnerved by the way he goes about expressing it. Specifically, who exactly is he ordering to “go away” and “leave me alone”? It seems that he’s so haunted by this world that he’s addressing existence generally, preferring the icy numbness of sleep or even death to consciousness. Alternately, since he is Trixie Flagston’s uncle, he may be railing against her buddy Sunbeam, hinting that this is a relationship that can go sour once you grow up.

Gil Thorp, 5/30/07

I had high hopes that crafty old Clambake was going to launch into a detailed treatise on just when and how you launch a beanball at a batter for maximum psychological impact. Instead, he appears to be giving young Elmer a “we black folks have it much harder than you Mexicans or whatever ever will so shut your yap whippersnapper” speech, which will inevitably result in either a soul-searching look at prejudice in a new, multiethnic America or an all-out race war, neither of which I’m interested in seeing in Gil Thorp, now or ever.

It’s nice to see the most personable and attractive Gil Thorp recurring character in panel three. I’m talking, of course, about the disembodied alien claw-thing perched on Elmer’s shoulder. It sure loves to sit on people’s shoulders, but it don’t mean no harm to nobody.

Hi and Lois, 5/30/07

I’d fling my food at my parents too if they tried to feed me that undifferentiated inky black goo. It’s like a bowl of finely minced despair.

Mary Worth, 5/30/07

Mary Worth is looking more skeletal and Nancy Reagan-esque than ever in panel two. I have no idea whose enormous hands those are flapping around in front of her, but they clearly aren’t hers. Perhaps they were once attached to her latest hapless victim, the remainder of whom is baking in a casserole dish back in her apartment, to be force-fed to Vera later this evening.

Slylock Fox, 5/30/07

I know it’s all part of the Great Cycle of Barnyard Life, but, like the duck in the pond, I am a little unnerved to see that fox’s last moment of happiness before the farmer beats him to death with that stick. I guess the lesson is: if you’re a fox and you like getting into other people’s business, get a cape and a deerstalker hat and learn to spout some deduction-y sounding bullshit. Otherwise, you’re fair game.

Ziggy, 5/30/07

Ha ha! Ziggy is going to die of smallpox, because he’s poor!