Post Content

Six Chix, 8/24/11

When I was a teenager, I saw a movie on the Lifetime Channel about the serious problem of bulimia, and the two scenes in it that have stuck with me are (a) one where two teenage girls are in a van in the woods, and one teenage girl, who is initiating the other in the joys of eating disorders, says “I call it scarf … and barf,” and (b) one where the mother of the second teenage girl opens a closet and finds all the jars of vomit the daughter’s been secretly hoarding, and immediately staggers back in shock and horror, which I found surprising because, really, could you honestly say that you’d be able to identify at first glance a jar filled with puke that resulted from a binge-and-purge cycle? Anyway, recently one of my nieces claimed that she was shown this film in a health class, which I found surprising because … squirreling away jars of vomit isn’t something actual bulimics do, is it? Please tell me that it isn’t.

Anyway, this comic brought up some memories of that film, for obvious reasons! Also, it made me feel like a cranky old person who mourns the coarseness of modern life. After all, if the actual comics are going to make baby-bird-food-is-vomit-even-for-anthropomorphized-birds jokes, how am I supposed to stay relevant making those exact same jokes on my “edgy” blog?

Apartment 3-G, 8/24/11

Oh, look, Apartment 3-G is proving that “Hoboken” is an inherently funny word as it coins its second Hoboken-themed catchphrase of the year. “He’s from Hoboken, Margo, not the moons of Jupiter!” isn’t quite at the same level as “Too fancy for Hoboken and too hot for church,” but it’s still pretty good.

Beyond the fine phrase-turning, though, I have some issues with the dynamics at play here. For one thing, we’re now more than 20 years into the marketing of the western shore of the Hudson as the “Gold Coast,” within a quick PATH or ferry commute to New York; a denizen of Hudson County is at least as likely to be a stockbroker as a piano mover, though I concede that Margo’s snobbery is probably pretty accurate in terms of how arch-Manhattanites feel about the place. More importantly, though, the idea that Lu Ann is some kind of urban sophisticate who could never find happiness with a simple working man from New Jersey is completely laughable to anyone who’s actually read the strip. Heck, even if this were the one and only Apartment 3-G you’d ever seen, you might still question the idea that the cowering blonde in the all-white shirt with the old-timey collar would be too cool to be romantically involved with anyone.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/24/11

Will this pair of lovelorn widows with unnaturally sharp features find love together? All signs point to yes, despite the clownish vibe that the couple will give off, due to their freakishly bright hair!

Blondie, 8/24/11

What if you developed a sexual obsession with a television personality, an obsession that occupied your every spare thought, an obession that, for obvious reasons, you could never discuss with your wife, the person with whom you shared all of your other most intimate secrets? That’s a dilemma that would manifest itself in some pretty weird ways, I’ll bet.

Post Content

Blondie, 8/20/11

Signs you’ve been in the comics-mocking business too long: you find yourself growing outraged that Dagwood isn’t heading to his usual aggressively wacky drive-through fast-food joint, Clown Burger, whose “Say … then pay!” motto strips down the industrially farmed beef acquisition process to its barest essence. Sports Burger, while even more drably named, seems intent on riding its gimmick hard, forcing its poor employees to engage in faux-football banter that they’re surely not being paid enough to spout with any real enthusiasm. Over at Clown Burger, the only clowniness comes in the form of the no doubt grubby ceramic clown head that you shout your order into. Still, I guess I can’t fault Dagwood for craving a little variety; since he seems to eat about nine meals a day, he needs to spread his food-purchasing love around a bit.

Marmaduke, 8/20/11

I really enjoy the insouciant way that Marmaduke’s owners’ daughter is lording over this empire of crime, sprawled casually as she is in an overstuffed easy chair that Marmaduke no doubt dragged from some poor soul’s living room in the midst of an orgy of screams and broken glass and carnage. He’ll allow her to believe that she’s part of his kleptomaniacal posse, right up to the part where he eats her.

Post Content

Luann, 7/12/11

I’ve been reading Luann long enough to recognize that when there’s a nameplate sitting on a desk in the third panel with a name written in more or less legible Chicago font, it’s supposed to be meaningful; however, I haven’t been reading long enough to know who “Ann Eiffel” is. Quick, to the Luann Wikipedia page! Said Wikipedia page is of course ludicrously over-detailed and has already provided plenty of fodder for the Wikipedia-themed Tumblr I help run; however, I shouldn’t knock it, because it provided the crucial information that Ann is a sex predator of indeterminate romantic orientation, having been fired from her bookstore-management job because of her lustful obsession with Bernice and/or Zane (Zane being Bernice’s wheelchair-bound love interest, circa 2002). Combine that with the way she lingers over “appreciative” in panel two and I think we all know that we have Brad WeenieWorld Harass-O-Thon ’11 ahead of us, which I cannot even tell you how excited I am about it.

Opening discussion question for Brad WeenieWorld Harass-O-Thon ’11: Is it easier to sexually harass people at WeenieWorld than at other companies, because you could always plausibly claim that all your inappropriate weenie-themed remarks were in fact work related?

Blondie, 7/12/11

My favorite part about this cartoon is that Blondie is just hanging out inside, chattering on the phone, letting all the numerologically fixated lovebirds stew out in the heat. It’s even funnier because, seeing as Blondie and Tootsie are the only Blondie’s Catering employees, I’m assuming that they’re only going to be able to cater the wedding for the first couple in line.

Mark Trail, 7/12/11

See, this is what happens when you overuse bold in your word balloons: when Sheriff Whatshisface finally realizes that his son was the Moccasin Thief all along, the only way his hurt and betrayal can be properly expressed is through yellow lettering. Yellow: the color of paternal heartbreak.

Mary Worth, 7/12/11

At first I though Jeff was putting together a spreadsheet to prove with science and numbers that Mary should marry him. But in fact it appears that he’s long ago given up that hope, and now is only focused on how lucrative her meddling powers are.

Ziggy, 7/12/11

Oh, Ziggy, I think your goldfish is quite well aware of the mammalian nature of whales (or, as fish call them, “warm-blooded sea-frauds”). I think that evil grin is there because he fervently believes that the man-whale battle depicted in Moby Dick is just the opening salvo in an intra-mammal civil war that will allow the fish to pick up the pieces and rule supreme in the Neo-Devonian golden age.

Ballard Street, 7/12/11

I’m pretty sure this is the first time an actual puddle of urine has been depicted on the comics pages. I would have guessed that Marvin would the be perpetrator.

Beetle Bailey, 7/12/11

The easiest way to get me to stop making jokes about Beetle Bailey’s Beetle-and-Sarge-are-lovers subtext: turn it into Beetle-and-Sarge-are-lovers text. Boring!

6 Chix, 7/12/11

Meanwhile, in Six Chix, some lady is giving a genie a handjob.