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Crankshaft, 5/21/07

Since a Crankshaft is a Funky Winkerbean sister strip, talk of death ought to make any character within earshot worry that they’re next in line for a demise that is both informative (to the reader) and agonizing (to the character … and, OK, also to the reader). The hilarious switcharoo in the final panel shows that the ’Shaft has not in fact worn his omnipresent baseball cap to yet another funeral, but is merely continuing his reign of terror over the cowed ladies of the Garden Club. To be honest I’ve never really understood his svengali-like hold over these innocent horticulture enthusiasts; there has to be some sort of cult-like angle to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if his next Garden Club speech starts very similarly to the one we see here, but ends instead at a table set with lots of little Dixie cups full of Kool-Aid.

Blondie, 5/21/07

Dagwood Bumstead — overeater, oversleeper, underachiever, tool moocher, intellectual soul mate to middle-schooler Elmo — has never been particularly troubled by shame. Thus his sudden look of mingled guilt and confusion in the final panel of this strip must indicate that his dream — with its “cherries the size of bowling balls” — got very, very weird indeed. Good taste, and our own peace of mind, must preclude us from contemplating the matter further.

Hi and Lois, 5/21/07

I’d blame this on another wacky coloring sweatshop mix-up, but the rug looks like this in black and white, too. There are only two reasons to have an inky black wall-to-wall carpet: to remind you of the dark abyss of Death that will one day open up and swallow your soul (and the Flagstons don’t seem like the type) or to absorb any and all liquids you might care to spill onto it without show visible stains. There’s a reason that they leave Trixie sitting in front of that window for 20 hours a day.

Mark Trail, 5/21/07

Oh, Mark, Mark, Mark. You’re so eager to impress your chesty little friend that you’ve blown the cover off of your journalistic M.O. “Take a boring story from three years ago that nobody remembers, replace a few paragraphs with updated information, and … ka-CHING! Another fat paycheck, plus a free trip away from my Stepford Wife and freaky gap-toothed big-headed not-son!”

I’m pretty sure that panel two offers the first look at a dangling mouse corpse with its head half-masticated to ever appear in the comics pages.

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Crankshaft, 5/17/06

For the no doubt depressingly large number of you who are biblically illiterate, the ’Shaft here is deploying a variation of the Judgement of Solomon, as described in 1 Kings 3:16-28. Two women came before King Solomon with a baby, both claiming to be its mother.

Then the king said, “Bring me a sword.” So they brought a sword for the king. He then gave an order: “Cut the living child in two and give half to one and half to the other.” The woman whose son was alive was filled with compassion for her son and said to the king, “Please, my lord, give her the living baby! Don’t kill him!” But the other said, “Neither I nor you shall have him. Cut him in two!” Then the king gave his ruling: “Give the living baby to the first woman. Do not kill him; she is his mother.”

Interestingly, many historians see this episode, which came early in Solomon’s reign, as being a metaphor and veiled warning to his enemies. Solomon’s father was King David, who had usurped the throne from King Saul; now that David was dead, Saul’s family felt that they should rule, not Solomon. In the parable, the baby is the Kingdom of Israel, and Solomon is the false mother: he’s willing to tear the kingdom apart with civil war if his rule is challenged, so if you love the country, you should keep your mouth shut about who the legitimate ruler is.

Using this interpretation, Crankshaft clearly believes that he’s the king of everything (the strip has his name on it, after all) and that the comics belong rightfully to him. He’ll probably tear that comic book in half in front of everyone else’s horrified eyes, then take the collection home and let it decay in his moldy basement, just to be a dick. He’s like a Solomon of spite.

Mark Trail, 5/17/07

I know I keep coming back to Mark Trail this week, but I don’t know how you can expect me not to fall head-over-heels in love with this awesomely hilarious conversation. I don’t know what makes me happier: the image evoked in the first panel of Commissioner Tweedledumb and Commissioner Tweedleverydumb wearing ski masks and carrying huge bags of birdseed, flinging handfuls of the stuff around as they run around on the tarmac one step ahead of enraged TSA agents, or the description in the third panel of a hunting guide who would do “just about anything for enough money” — up to and including, one hopes, putting on a bird suit and getting run over by a Boeing 717.

Apartment 3-G, 5/17/07

Wait, are we about to find out that It Was All A Dream, the lamest, dumbest, clichéest cliché in the history of modern narrative? I think I liked it better when it didn’t make any sense.

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Curtis, 4/21/07

Congrats to Curtis for making the unpopular assertion that looks and surface appearances do matter. Although this strip doesn’t really seem to have any context to speak of (it’s not like Curtis and his dad were talking about the way those “rap” “artists” dress or anything), it’s good to see someone bucking against the PC “it’s what’s on the inside that counts” orthodoxy.

By the way, I’m pretty sure the fact that the elder Wilkins is drinking out of that prissy little teacup means that he’s on the “down low.”

Update: I can’t believe I almost let slip this opportunity to link to faithful reader Maughta’s blog, Judge a Book by its Cover. Basically, what I do to comics, she does to the covers of paperback novels.

Blondie, 4/21/07

I’ve never given a lot of thought to where exactly it is that the Bumsteads live. I guess I’ve always had the idea that it was somewhere suburban and bucolic. But now that I know that nighttime in their neighborhood is ruled by roaming, unfenced packs of hungry, semi-feral dogs, I might have to rethink some of my assumptions.

Mark Trail, 4/21/07

Wait … Mark returned to the inside of his beehive (note the freaky honeycomb wall design) and just left Dan and Sally “in the hands of” the private employees of a private company, who lack the power to detain or arrest? Does he think they’re just going to patiently wait there for their fate after the horror of being found out by the great Mark Trail?

Actually, they probably will. When Mark Trail punches you, you stay punched.

Mary Worth, 4/21/07

A few people have complained that I didn’t mention Mary Worth this week; this is because I found her dinner with Vera to be crushingly boring (yes, I realize that this is how normal people react to any arbitrarily chosen five days of this strip, but still). This opinion was solidified by the fact that Vera revealed essentially nothing, not even in her thought balloons, so I have no idea what exactly Mary’s so excited about in panel three. The only thing the introverted Ms. Shields mentioned that caught Mary’s attention was that she had a nanny as a girl, so I’m assuming that Mary now thinks that she must be rich and plans on murdering her and stealing her hidden gold.

I’m pretty sure that the dude wandering by in the hallway is Wilbur Weston, desperate for strip time, wearing a baseball hat and a fake mustache.

Crankshaft, 4/21/07

I think I might actually like Crankshaft the strip (if not Crankshaft the person) better if he actually did start clubbing people to death. With an iron bludgeon shaped like a human hand. He’d start with with people who talk out of turn during Garden Club. So watch yourself, ladies.

Unrelated Pibgorn update: Brooke McEldowney has started a LiveJournal blog which will keep you posted on the strip’s new home, once it finds one. There’s an interesting discussion of the editorial back and forth with his previous syndicate, and, in executive summary, the new Pibgorn’s gonna be filthy.