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Marvin, 8/19/08

The feature that brought you “Belly Laffs” now presents a running “gag” that’s even more recycled-art-a-riffic: “Ask Marvin,” in which not even the third panel contains any illustrative artwork! No, it’s just three panels of a terrible, typing baby, who urges his fellow infants to be so incredibly hateful that parents won’t just think twice about having more children, they’ll actually be physically unable to have sex because they’re so soul-blightingly exhausted!

Speaking of babies, faithful reader aquagirl2 fears that her youngest bears more than a passing resemblance to the terrible Marvin. What do you all think?

The haircut is a little uncanny, I think, but that’s easily fixed with scissors or clippers. Remember, a bald baby is better than a Marvin-resembling baby.

UPDATE: At aquagirl2’s request, I’m posting the other pic she sent me, in which her little Marvin-a-like looks happier and cuter. I didn’t put this up originally because he doesn’t look as much like Marvin here — in particular, his eyes aren’t let up with Satan’s hellfire — but he does seem to be thought-ballooning something, possibly about making his parents’ life miserable, or about crapping.

Gil Thorp, 8/19/08

Elmer’s too dumb to realize why “that job for [his] coach” involves painting a huge target in an open field and standing on the bulls-eye. Having already bombed Jimmy Hughes’ house with his deathplane, Gil is now flying to Michigan to eliminate Elmer as well, determined to put an end to these painfully boring summer storylines once and for all.

Mary Worth, 8/19/08

Dear Toby Cameron:

You probably think that we can’t see your thought balloons, and that you therefore are free to visualize your shirtless husband whenever you’d like. Well, we can, and you aren’t.

Sincerely,
The Mary Worth-reading public

Crankshaft, 8/19/08

Ho ho, the battle of the cranky old folks just keeps getting better! It’s pretty obvious that at the end of this trip to the cemetery somebody’s going to end up at the bottom of a shallow grave — but who? I’m on tenterhooks!

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Marmaduke, 8/18/08

Eagle-eyed readers have noted for the past few days that there have been two names at the bottom of Marmaduke’s panels — Paul and Brad Anderson, presumably indicating yet another cartoon property being passed down from father to son, like kingships and duchies were in Europe in days of yore. Today may be Paul’s first day really driving the pen, as there’s a distinct difference in style — the children look like recognizable humans instead of face-melted horror-things, for instance. But thankfully, the feature’s central Marmadukeness remains intact, as Marmaduke is cheerfully threatening to eat these little suburban moppets, or worse.

Mark Trail, 8/18/08

Cherry and Kelly are dumb girls, so obviously they’re not going to be able to get out of their Desperate Cat Cave Dilemma themselves. The question is, which male person or persons will end up saving them? Will it be, um, what’s-his-name and the other guy, the two losers who have been on their pointless expedition with them? Or will it be Mark, who is looking so handsome sitting on top of that pretty, pretty pony with the pretty mane? As with most questions involving Mark Trail, you’ll quickly figure it out if you ask yourself “How would a ten-year-old girl answer?”

Crankshaft, 8/18/08

I admit somewhat shamefacedly that I unironically laughed at today’s Crankshaft, and actually sort of look forward to the long-simmering battle of extremely awfulness that will crankily rage between these two until one of them dies. I do wonder why Crankshaft’s daughter’s mother-in-law (I refuse to look up her name) is decked out in black. Is she perpetually in mourning for her long-dead spouse, like Queen Victoria? Or is she just an inky singularity of hate, from which no light or joy can escape?

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Blondie, 8/15/08

Having apparently decided that his nonstop regimen of bingeing and (I assume, based on his rail-thin physique) purging isn’t punishment enough for his poor body, Dagwood has now taken to torturing his innocent bladder.

Crankshaft, 8/15/08

Truth in labeling laws ought to require that every single installment of Crankshaft and Funky Winkerbean contain the phrase “an undercurrent of melancholy that I can’t quite seem to put into words.”

Marmaduke, 8/15/08

Marmaduke is overplaying his hand here: his owner has made the baffling decision to try to balance a good-sized sandwich on a plate, a bowl of potato chips, and, um, a plate of some sort of cube-things on his lap with no tray or other support of any kind, so at least half of that food is going to be on the floor in short order.

Momma, 8/15/08

Ha ha! Momma’s doctor is a monstrous cannibalistic fiend who feasts on the organs of the elderly.

In unrelated news, for everyone who has been able to endure the Foob Wedding Of The Century by consoling themselves that once the vows have been uttered, it will all be over: Ha ha ha ha ha.