Archive: Blondie

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Let’s start today by taking a step into the past — specifically, yesterday.

Panel from Apartment 3-G, 5/17/09

Margo is about to jet off to China to single-handedly rescue her fiance and force the People’s Bank of China to revalue the yuan in the process, but first she’s stopping off at her mother’s for a free meal. What could possibly be the cause of the girlish glee occurring inside Gabriella’s apartment?

Apartment 3-G, 5/18/09

OH MY GOD, IT’S HER PARENTS! And they’re being all … nice to each other. Surely the last thing any of us want to see is our parents flirting like they’re on a third date and have consumed exactly the right amount of wine for magic to happen twenty to forty minutes in the future; this is especially true for Margo, whose very self-image requires her to imagine the act of her creation as a moment of pure mutual loathing and contempt, so you can imagine her disgust at seeing this happy little tableau here.

(Margo’s creation story is actually pretty sordid, which gives this whole scene a vibe of genuine ick that I’m not sure is intended.)

Blondie, 5/18/09

As panel three indicates, Blondie is under the suffocating, restrictive gaze of her husband at all times, so she’s learned to choose her words carefully so as to avoid his wrath while still speaking the truth. “I thought he was all those things, but boy howdy was I wrong. Look, Cookie, the results of my carefree flapper days should make it pretty clear that bathtub gin dulls both your eyesight and your judgment.”

Family Circus, 5/18/09

Oh, look, the Keanes have apparently acquired a crazed neighborhood enemy! This can only escalate; tomorrow, they’ll presumably wake up to find the words “HUMAN GARBAGE” spray-painted across the front of their house. The real question, of course, why it took so long for this to happen.

Mark Trail, 5/18/09

You’re probably laughing at this because you’re imagining Rusty, dressed in his best khaki paramilitary uniform and his brightest blue kerchief, earnestly showing a college admissions officer his “transcripts,” which consist entirely of poorly lit and composed pictures of those forest animals dumb or ill enough to be lured into the pen behind the Trail cabin. But that scenario, of course, assumes that Rusty has any idea what “college” actually is. Once he’s saved up enough, Mark and Cherry will probably find a glove factory or third-world rebel army willing to accept some cash in return for taking the mutant freak-child off their hands; then they’ll tell him he’s going to Bowdoin or something and send him on his way, never to be seen again.

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Pluggers and The Lockhorns, 5/4/09

Some might say I’m being inconsistent for constantly complaining about comics but then complaining when they change anything. But I only complain when those changes are pointless, or actively make things worse. Take today’s Pluggers, for instance. I generally assume that most comics artists have by this point taken advantage of services that will turn your handwriting into a perfectly good font that you can drop into your word balloons with Photoshop or whatever; and though you may assume that Pluggers would shun this modern trend, I’m guessing they’ve been doing it for quite some time — check out the lower-case Gs in the caption, for instance, and you’ll notice they’re all identical. In today’s Pluggers, however, something appears to have gone awry, with the dialogue balloon lettering being all boldy and in a different typeface from the usual (and quite pleasant) font that the other lettering in the panel uses. Either it’s a misguided experiment, or someone hit a wrong button and put the wrong font in, then said “Aw, it’s Pluggers, who cares” and sent it off to the publisher. At least it’s not Comic Sans.

Meanwhile, the Lockhorns has moved on from it usual caption underneath the panel and caption just along the bottom edge of the panel techniques to experiment with a radical “caption inside a box inside the panel” system. I’m not sure if this is just an attempt to cover up the yawning empty space underneath Leroy’s chair or a fumbling evolution towards true word balloons. I’d actually like to believe that this isn’t what Loretta is saying, but rather is information given to us by some omniscient narrator; Loretta is actually busy explaining to some dead-eyed paid assassin how much she’ll pay to have Leroy murdered, or perhaps is sticking her thumb down her throat to induce vomiting, just so she can briefly feel something.

Blondie, 5/4/09

I look forward to seeing Dagwood devolve into wholly justified paranoia as he comes to learn that everything that happens in his universe revolves around him, and that there are always millions upon millions of eyes on him at all times, watching and judging, even in his most private, secret moments (i.e., bath time).

Shoe, 5/4/09

It is a convention in Shoe that relatively mild punchlines are met with expressions of goggle-eyed horror by whatever character is unfortunate enough to be present when the daily pun or joke-like final sentence is delivered; still, I like to imagine that something has happened that truly justifies these terrified reactions. For instance, perhaps Skyler here thinks that by “notes” his uncle is referring to Lotus Notes, the worst Internet communications suite ever created.

Dennis the Menace, 5/4/09

I’m not sure what Henry’s expression of thoughtful chewing is supposed to denote. Perhaps he thinks that America ought to listen to its wise elders and get back to the common-sense economic principles that made it great. On the other hand, he may just be concerned that his elderly neighbor is talking to his son about not wearing pants.

IN OTHER NEWS: I have tried to be nice, and reason with you all, but I am done with that. Discussing Mallard Fillmore in the comments only pisses everyone off and contributes nothing. Anyone doing so will be banned on the first offense I catch, starting now.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 4/3/09

HEY EVERYONE JUNE MORGAN IS IN HER BIKINI! HOT! HUBBA HUBBA WOO HOO OK, look. Doubt my credentials as a heterosexual comic-loving man if you must, but I simply cannot get myself worked up over drawings of sexy ladies. I mean, sexy ladies are intriguing to me as a rule, but when it comes to cartoons, it’s hard for me to forget that someone, somewhere, generally a dude, was drawing said sexy lady, and usually thinking, “Hmm, I’ve seen sexy ladies in real life, but with the powers of my artistry, I can add even more sexiness!” Which in practice usually means “I can make her boobs even bigger!”

I don’t pretend to be consistent on this point. For instance, it’s well known that I have certain … feelings for Margo Magee. And Margo is nice enough to look at, but my feelings are primarily driven by the fact that she’s a hilarious, tightly-wound bag of angry crazy, which is the sort of thing I’ve been known to go for in the past. And while Margo’s wonderfully antisocial personality is as much a fictional construct as, say, Abbey Spencer’s ass crack, somehow it’s much harder for me to ignore the artifice involved in the construction of the latter.

And speaking of artifice … I’m not a professional breastologist or anything, but I’m pretty sure that one’s cleavage does not consist of two perfect and slightly separated semi-circles if one’s bosom is the one that God gave you. Having a surgically enhanced cartoon fantasy object strikes me as particularly bizarre and off-putting, to be sure, but what I really want to know is: whose work are we looking at here? Certainly not Rex’s; breast-enhancement surgery can take hours, and that’s much longer than he’d ever want to spend touching a girl’s boobies.

Blondie, 4/3/09

Blondie comments on the current economic crisis: the unemployed masses, their lives destroyed by the decisions of the powerful, weep openly in the street, just outside the fine restaurants where the captains of industry who got us into this mess dine on gourmet foods, served on china plates and fine tablecloths. The workers who are still employed sit by uncomfortably, afraid to protest at the injustice for fear of joining the starving hysterics in the gutter, wracked with shame over their collaboration in their own oppression.

Dennis the Menace, 4/3/09

Hey, Mr. Wilson, it’s the government that publicizes the names and addresses of sex offenders, not the television stations. But I admit that when they ran that picture of your house with the caption “PERVERTS IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD” as the lead story on the 6 o’clock news, that was a little much.

Pluggers, 4/3/09

You’re a plugger if you euphemistically refer to an anonymous sex party as “league bowling.” (The rest of us call it “book club.”)