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Beetle Bailey, 2/28/10

I originally read the heading on the piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board in panel three as “Worst List”, and believed that it was meant to be an accounting of the most incompetent, ineffective, and generally bad soldiers on the base, or perhaps just the worst humans on earth. This nicely dovetails with my interpretation of the ensuing panels, in which Beetle, struck by shame, climbs atop a building intending to jump off and end it all, and convinces many of his fellow soldiers to join him. Unfortunately, since the structure only appears to be 12 feet high or so, this too will probably end in failure, with the attempted mass suicide only resulting in a few broken ankles.

Judge Parker, 2/28/10

Hey, remember how there was this entire other Judge Parker plot going on, which, despite its many crimes against legal ethics, was actually somewhat more interesting than the Rocky-Godiva marital problems storyline? Well, it, uh, got resolved, completely offstage, apparently! Thank goodness this one of Barreto’s last few Sunday strips (or perhaps one of his son’s?), so that these boring people standing around some dull office explaining the resolution confusingly are at least halfway attractive to look at.

Marvin, 2/28/10

“Well, it looks like we’ll have to turn to cannibalism! We’ll start with Marvin, naturally. I’ll fire up the grill.”

“But honey, we have plenty of food in the ho—”

“I SAID I’LL FIRE UP THE GRILL!”

Panel from Blondie, 2/28/10

It’s only a dream sequence, but this panel offers further unsettling detail on the always grim relationship between Dagwood and his boss. We’re no doubt meant to chortle at Dagwood’s comically twisted leg, but I can’t stop looking at Dithers’s heel planted squarely on the poor man’s throat.

Panel from Mary Worth, 2/28/10

At last, the nature of Wilbur and Kurt’s forest frolic becomes clear: A laughing Wilbur is giving his smiling not-son a bit of a head start before he starts hunting him for sport. Truly, emotionally needy con artists are the most dangerous game.

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Blondie, 2/14/10

I was going to pull out the throwaway panels here for another entry in my long “Ha ha, it looks like they are gay, out of context” file, but after having read the comic itself, it seems that the whole strip is driven by Herb’s unspoken desire for his neighbor. Note that Herb longingly describes the sort of Valentine’s gift that he himself would like to receive; if in the process he undermines Dagwood’s relationship with his wife, well, so much the better.

Crankshaft, 2/14/10

Ha ha! It’s funny because she no longer loves him enough to put up with his mopey bullshit!

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Mary Worth, 2/7/10

Uh oh — it looks like Dawn isn’t going to sit back just acquiesce to losing her father’s affections to some scam artist! It seems that she is going to try shock therapy by finding the one person who can be guaranteed to terrify Wilbur back to his senses: erstwhile romantic rival Martin Clark. Sure, he’s been dead for years, but that will make the ultimate confrontation all the more harrowing, as Dawn rigs up the rich man’s corpse to move and speak like a marionette. “Look at me, Wilbur!” Martin will say, thanks to the ventriloquist lessons Dawn’s been taking on the sly. “I’m a charred, reassembled cadaver, and yet Abby would still choose me over you!”

Blondie, 2/7/10

This right here is seven panels of Superbowl Sunday inanity punctuated by one glorious moment of complete madness. I suppose that longtime readers of Blondie are supposed to know that spinning around on one’s head is an indicator of extreme, uncontrollable emotion of some kind, but to the casual viewer, it would just appear that Dagwood, Herb, and Daisy have chosen to express their football-related outrage with a stunning display of eerily synchronized breakdancing. Which I for one am totally in favor of.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 2/7/10

You know who I just realized that I totally don’t get at all? Berna! She’s Rex and June’s receptionist and she runs a successful salon of some sort and she uses Yugoslav generalissimo Tito’s recipes to dominate the local restaurant scene? Why would such a power broker need a relatively menial job behind a clinic’s front desk? Perhaps she uses it to drum up business for her salon. “Honey, trust me, Western medicine can’t do a thing about those split ends. Here’s my number.”

Meanwhile, I look forward to seeing how this strip attempts to make a guy named “Toots” who has a stripey rugby shirt, a goofy little beard, and a lot of hair gel into some kind of threat against Rex and June’s carefully constructed bourgeois order.

Marvin, 2/7/10

Since we only get a single glimpse of Marvin’s dad in this strip, in which he appears to be a good 15 or 20 feet away from his terrible little son and not getting any closer, I’m guessing this is less “father/son bonding” and more “let’s bring the hateful monster outside and leave him there until he ‘accidentally’ freezes to death.”