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Dick Tracy, 8/13/09

OK, when I see “cutting” bandied about as a noun like this, I think immediately about people who self-harm. However, it’s obvious that Dick Tracy lacks the depression, self-doubt, vulnerability, and ability to feel emotional pain of any sort for that to be what he’s proposing; plus, he’s offering the suggestion with an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. Therefore, I can only assume that he’s actually planning to perform an impromptu autopsy on our poor dead trapeze artist, right there on the floor of the Big Top. “The sawdust will easily absorb the blood!”

Oh by the way, Dick, IT WAS THE CLOWN THAT DID IT. THE CLOWN WITH THE SOULFUL, SHIFTY EYES. HE KILLED HER. AND SENT THE NOTE. JUST FYI.

Mark Trail, 8/13/09

It’s now clear that we can’t refer to this gun-toting, orange-clad individual as an assassin, or even as a hit man, but nevertheless I’m beginning to really sort of be in awe of him. You have to respect the years of weapons training it must have taken for him to master the craft of not quite killing people. I wonder if every day he picks up his gun and shakes his head and thinks, “Thank goodness this rifle is in my capable hands. If you didn’t know what you were doing, you could really hurt someone with this!”

Crankshaft, 8/13/09

Since Cranksaft is, as near as I can tell, standing at floor level, I’m not sure whose perspective the first panel is supposed to be drawn from. One of the garden club ladies who drank too much gin and quietly slumped out of her front row seat onto the floor? The cheering throngs gathered in the public square to look up in adulation at their gardener-dictator giving a speech from a balcony, a scenario that frequently plays out in Crankshaft’s mind? Meanwhile, panel three is definitely one of the scariest things I’ve seen this week, and replicating or even approximating it in real life would probably loosen the tongues of everyone from the perps down at central booking to al Qaeda masterminds. “NO, NOT CRANKSHAFT! I’LL TELL YOU THE REAL ANSWER! JUST DON’T LET HIM NEAR ME!”

Ziggy, 8/13/09

If you’re going to be claiming ownership over sentient beings, Ziggy, perhaps you ought not to have acquired so many of them. You can wave paperwork around all you want, but why should you expect them to respect any system of law that perpetuates their enslavement? The grim expressions make it clear that a bloody revolt is in the offing, with each animal using its particular skills in the cause of their collective freedom. You don’t even want to know what that angry little fish is going to do to you.

(Psst! Interested in seeing a piece I did on various computers in various vehicles?)

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Crankshaft, 8/10/09

You might think that after his near death experience, Crankshaft would be ready to show a little humility — you might think that, that is, unless you read the strip on a regular basis, in which case you would know that being a smug dick is one of the key defining aspects of the old man’s personality. Admittedly, he isn’t actually causing anyone physical or emotional pain for once, but still, his expression of epically smug self-satisfaction in panel three is wildly at variance with the quality of the — well, I don’t even know what to call it. It’s not a pun, you can’t in good conscience call it a joke, and if you referred to it as a play on words, then the thought of how joyless and grim your playtime must have been as a child chills me to the core. Anyway, the point is that Crankshaft is an unfunny jerk who I’d hope would be stung to death by bees enraged at being roped into this sordid scene, except they already tried that and it didn’t work.

Cathy, 8/10/09

While I’m not Catholic, I do believe that confession is good for the soul, which is why I always feel compelled to admit it here when Cathy elicits a genuine chuckle. In the case of this strip, I wasn’t amused by the bizarre denouement, in which it’s revealed that Irving has no idea what he looks like (presumably that’s because any mirror brought into their home is shattered in short order by an ACKing swimsuit-clad Cathy); but I did kind of find the panels in which he’s shouting abuse into a laptop screen kind of funny, as it’s simultaneously ludicrous and something I feel a certain amount of familiarity with (see angry diatribe about Crankshaft, above).

Gil Thorp, 8/10/09

“I mean, Marty’s arm is already shot, so I don’t see how hauling a bunch of wood around could hurt him any more. Hey, Marty, let me know if your shoulders get sore! I have some cortisone here that will make you feel better!”

Meanwhile, at Ted Pearse’s Li’l Hobo Sport Camp And Sammich Dispensary™, another promising youngster is showing that he too is ready for some cortisone injections, as he participates in the traditional pastime of underprivileged youth: throwing around a stale sourdough batard that they fished out of a dumpster. Winner gets to eat it!

Dick Tracy, 8/10/09

“Hey, everyone, it’s me! The lifeless, bleeding, twisted corpse over here? Anyone want to throw a blanket over me? You know, help me maintain some shred of dignity? Anyone? Little help?”

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Hi and Lois, 8/6/09

Hmm, something has gone very, very wrong in the relationship between Trixie and sunbeam. It used to be that she’d welcome sunbeam through the windows whenever it wanted to come in, and missed it when it was gone. But now she’s actively trying to flee from it, huddling behind a tree in hopes of remaining undetected. Has she realized that sunbeam is a little too persistent? That hanging up heavy curtains is too high price to pay for privacy? Is Chris Hansen going to show up with a camera crew at any moment? “You knew this innocent young girl wanted you to stop coming in through the window, and yet you persisted! Why? Why? Your silence convicts you!”

Crankshaft and B.C., 8/6/09

Well, since I made everyone who may have been avoiding it look at a snake attacking a little dog, I feel obligated to inform you that, against all odds, a pup who can’t weigh more than about ten pounds is going to survive a dose of snake venom that would have felled a full-grown man who has been kept alive for decades longer than his natural lifespan by an unkillable core of pure spite. Don’t take this as evidence that the Winkerverse will cease to be a abattoir of soul-slaughter, though; it’s just that in drama you can get away with doing awful things to people that you could never do to animals, as B.C. seems to have figured out, albeit belatedly.

Mark Trail, 8/6/09

“God, these gangsters have such a terrible grip on me … it’s like they’ve got my nuts locked between their teeth! Sorry for the weird metaphor, sis, but it just popped into my head for some reason.”

Beetle Bailey, 8/6/09

Beetle’s right to be freaked out. Everyone knows it only starts being gay when you can see the other dude’s face.