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Beetle Bailey, 11/19/06

Beetle Bailey is totally divorced from anything actually happening in the U.S. military, as has been repeatedly noted by everybody ever. Today’s strip gives me an intriguing idea, though. What if the reason that Camp Swampy was so unlike the real army is that nobody there was actually in the army? It’s just a bunch of weirdos/re-enactors/lunatics wearing a mishmosh of army uniforms from different eras who have got a hold of some surplus army jeeps and are playing out a bizarre drama for their own inscrutable purposes. The missile in panel five indicates that the real army has finally wind of their little game, and has declared war upon them for impersonating the military and sullying its good name with their rampant incompetence and stupidity.

The General Halftrack piñata is panel seven is just about the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Since all Beetle Bailey characters are incredibly cartoonish anyway, it’s difficult to portray something that’s supposed to be a stylized version of one of those characters in the strip, so it pretty much just looks like the general’s been lynched by his angry men.

Curtis, 11/19/06

When I first saw this strip without the top two supposedly disposable panels, I was pretty baffled by Gunk asking Curtis to “take me to a mailbox.” I mean, I know he’s from tiny Flyspeck Island and all, but surely he’s lived in the neighborhood long enough to know where the major landmarks are. Panel two reveals the real source of the so-called humor: Gunk is such a wacky crazy foreigner who doesn’t understand our ways to such an extent that he doesn’t even know what a mailbox looks like! Whoo! This, of course, is dumber than a sack of hammers, as is the Curtis convention of one character simply vanishing in the last panel as a reaction to another character’s outrageousness. Poor Gunk never will find that mailbox, but that’s OK, since his hand-drawn stamp won’t take his mail back to Flyspeck Island. God, I hate Gunk.

Mary Worth, 11/19/06

Oh, so they like each other now. How depressing.

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Judge Parker, 11/12/06

Oh man, Sunday’s pre-“Meanwhile” Judge Parker packs in as much queasy adolescent sexuality as a John Irving novel. The image of Ned sticking out her ass for her mother, and asking “You don’t think it’s too revealing … too sexy?” is somewhat alluring, but mostly horrifying. Abbey’s blatant look of mingled horror and arousal in panel five adds to the squirm. She probably would like to complain about her daughter’s trampy outfit, but realizes that she doesn’t really have the moral authority to do so since you can totally see her buttcrack in panel three.

By the way, Neddy, French women dress in sexy and stylish clothes, not like … that. Prepare to be mocked.

(Incidentally, Abbey isn’t Ned’s bio-mom … and I’m pretty certain Ned was adopted as a teenager. I’m not sure if that makes the underlying tension here better or not.)

Post-“Meanwhile,” the phrase “Nice work, Celeste … you smell like a still!” may be the best marital put-down this side of the Lockhorns. Still, it’s nice that Reggie gave her a full two hours get her drunken mess of a life together enough to get to the press conference.

Beetle Bailey, 11/12/06

There’s a lot to hate about today’s Beetle Bailey. It follows the weird stumbly, improvised, cumulative-joke rhythm that’s been somewhat typical of the Sunday strips of late. I also wonder what happened to Beetle’s perfectly presentable t-shirt-and-shorts combo while he was in the truck, or why Miss Buxley is the only person Beetle can think of to call in his predicament, or how Miss Buxley could possibly be so femme that she doesn’t own any clothing item that isn’t a dress, or any shoes that aren’t high heels. However, I’d like to reserve the brunt of my ire for the phrase “But it sure left its output,” which has never been and will never be uttered by any speaker of idiomatic English ever.

Mary Worth, 11/12/06

As Mary walks towards her date with destiny, it’s amazing just how rattled she is. First off, in the first panel she appears to actually be practicing her first greeting to her new archrival. In panel three, she looks like she’s sneaking down the hall way, ready to leap around the corner and bash in roller-suitcase-woman’s skull with her pan. But mostly I’m charmed by the look of grim determination on her face, which gives way to an utterly insincere smile in the final panel. Next week is going to be great.

Family Circus, 11/12/06

The lesson: You can’t have nice things when your kids are morons.

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Heart of the City and Get Fuzzy, 11/6/06

There’s been a bit of back-and-forth in the comments today about the latest Mallard Fillmore, and exactly who and who not is being urged not to vote by America’s favorite only talking Republican journalist duck. While things have remained civil enough to avoid banishment to the Cockpit (and let’s keep it that way, shall we?), I’m surprised nobody mentioned these two strips, in which children and animals are urged to vote. I think that Satchel might be Canadian, even. The fact that he’s a Green supporter should probably come as surprise to no-one.

Beetle Bailey, 11/6/06

Meanwhile, Beetle Bailey is just totally insane and such. I’m going back and forth on whether this is a genuine hallucinogenic product of a deranged mind or an attempt at forced whimsy that has resulted from all the elevated prose extolling Duck Amuck. On the one hand, the little cutsie waterfowl outfits (look, a little girl! a cowboy! a millionaire!) are a bit too precious and calculated; but the phrase “invaded my dream” creeps me out, and the weird circle-with-a-line beaks of the father/son ducks in panel one and richie rich duck in panel two are just not right at all, and are in themselves fertile nightmare fuel.

Slylock Fox, 11/6/06

Also today, the little Goat kids (see what I just did there?) are being made accustomed to the nightmarish police state that awaits them as adults. “Say, someone ate the cookies? Let’s call in CSI: Genus Vulpes and subject you three to a full-on interrogation until someone confesses!”

At least Slylock uses the power of deductive reasoning to determine the culprits, rather than just going at them with a rubber hose right off the bat. I love the look on the face of bowler-wearing-sidekick-mouse-whose-name-I-forget. He has no real crime-fighting abilities or interest; he’s just happy to be there, drinking coffee out of a mug the size of his head.

Mark Trail, 11/6/06

I’m beginning to think that Molly, the pet bear, isn’t particularly bright.

Hey, everybody! Kelly Welly and Ranger Rick have suddenly re-entered this story after — what is it, three months now? What do you suppose they’ve been up to? Never mind, I think we all know what they’ve been doing.

Mary Worth, 11/6/06

Look at the way Mary grits her teeth in that last panel. I have a feeling that Ella’s casserole is going to be made up mostly of broken glass, fiberglass insulation, and bleach.