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Apartment 3-G, 1/3/07

So, in case you weren’t paying attention, Eric Mills broke Margo’s heart by jetting out of town mysteriously, then just as suddenly set it aflame again by showing up on Apartment 3-G’s doorstep on Christmas in a particularly pointless bit of plotting whiplash. Margo must be getting inured to the pleasures of hot monkey sex romance and such, though, because it isn’t having the same softening effect on her personality as it did a few weeks ago. I love her completely pointless outrage in panel one. “Mr. Gibbs? How dare he have a WASPy, monosyllabic last name!”

Mr. Gibbs has been nothing but avuncular and pleasant to Lu Ann throughout the long Adventure of the Haunted Studio, but that facial expression in panel three pretty much screams, “Hello ladies! Looks like all those hidden cameras I installed throughout this firetrap are about to pay for themselves after all!”

Crankshaft, 1/3/07

You know, today’s Crankshaft is a good example of the strip’s subtle but fierce misanthropy. Because at first you’re grateful that they switched the expression around and didn’t actually show you the mangled corpse of a deer embedded into the hood of this car, but then you realize that he’s implying that somewhere there’s a terribly injured animal running around, with a huge chunk of metal and glass and plastic hanging out of a bloody wound in its side … well, Crankshaft is kind of mean-spirited, is what I’m trying to say.

Mary Worth, 1/3/07

Is this the bitchiest Mary Worth ever? “Yeah, Agent Orange, terribly moved, blah blah blah … but what about MEEEEEEEE????? What about MY NEEDS????”

Who is Mary talking to, exactly? Yesterday’s omniscient narration box noted only that she was calling “Cambodia.” Perhaps she was connected directly to King Norodom Sihamoni, who, being a constitutional monarch, has little better to do with his time than to take phone calls from agitated biddies.

Slylock Fox, 1/3/07

I’m not sure what’s funnier: The cheery, innocent look on the face of the megamagnet-wielding security goon, or the expression of sheer, heart-stopping terror on the face of our innocent traveller — perhaps literally heart-stopping, as his pacemaker slams into his sternum, drawn inexorably by this fiendish device. If I had to guess about the origin of this little drama, I’d wager that a certain cartoonist had his precious collection of gels and liquids confiscated by some jackbooted thug while he was traveling over the Thanksgiving holiday. Well, you crossed the wrong gel aficionado, Mr. TSA Man! I bet you felt pretty foolish when you opened up the paper and found that you had been named and shamed in today’s Slylock Fox!

One Big Happy, 1/3/07

The countdown to Ruthie’s inevitable stabbing frenzy and subsequent trip to juvie begins … now.

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Marmaduke, 12/1/06

Have you ever noticed that Marmaduke is allowed to just wander aimlessly around the streets of wherever it is that he lives, more or less unmolested by the long arm of the law? Today we may be learning why: he keeps homeless people from sleeping on the benches of this bucolic suburban town. Don’t listen to him, Marmaduke! Everyone knows the hobos keep old, stale bits of food in their beards for safekeeping! Keep rooting around in there!

The Phantom, 12/1/06

I’d love to see exactly what those resumes look like. “Longtime lackey seeking situation as assistant to thuggish crime lord. Skills include simpering, dodging shoes and crockery thrown in anger, Microsoft Office. References: Unfortunately all in prison and/or incinerated.”

Slylock Fox, 12/1/06

Good lord, can’t these kids engage in a little bit of childish fun — like lowering a head-sized slice of cake down from a treehouse — without every carbon-based form of life in the neighborhood staring at them with blank, expressionless faces? I’d be pretty creeped out if I were them. The dude with his nose over the top of the fence is particularly disturbing.

Crankshaft, 12/1/06

Crankshaft proves that, like its sister strip Funky Winkerbean, it too can bring the gut-churning bleakness. I love the expressions in the second panel: Everyone, particularly the young alterna-teen, seems angry and humiliated by the ‘shaft’s antics, and the old coot’s own face indicates that he’s all too aware that his own family mainly sees him as an embarrassment. This should be a fun dinner. The only bright spot is the hostess, who appears to have been charmed Crankshaft’s little joke. Maybe this is the first time she’s heard it, which means that she’s probably been working there for less than forty-five minutes.

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Crankshaft, 11/7/06

I was going to try to avoid Election Day-themed comics today in an attempt to stave off pointless basic-cable-level political shrieking in the comments section (and DON’T EVEN START because I WILL RELOCATE YOUR SCREEDS TO THE COCKPIT, I swear to God), but I couldn’t resist this nonpartisan little gem. There are two possibilities here:

• Crankshaft has totally snapped and is having PTSD flashbacks, thinks that his local middle school auditorium is a Wehrmacht machine gun nest, and is about to blow these civic-minded folks to bits with the sixty-year-old grenades he’s got in the pockets of that uniform.
• Crankshaft, who spent a good part of his youth engaged in the frightful carnage of World War II, is disgruntled by the use of war-related terms for non-war activities, and has decided that he’s going to make his point in such a way that a group of perfectly nice people who have never wished him any harm will be made profoundly uncomfortable.

Both are awesome.

Blondie, 11/7/06

For straight-up apolitical horror, though, you can’t beat this terrifying vision of She-Dagwood. The ickiest part is that they’re both visualizing the same freakish creature, but while Cookie is thankful for the fate that she avoided only by a genetic throw of the dice, Dagwood is positively enamored. I wonder if he visualizes a future where he and Girl Dagwood eat freakishly huge sandwiches, nap on the couch, and brutalize the mailman together, thus replacing the need for anyone else to share his life.