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Apartment 3-G, 2/4/07

So I just spent a good chunk of time catching up on the various comics I missed while I was away, and I have to say that nothing was so disturbing as the bizarre turn of events in Apartment 3-G that saw Tommie falling into the arms of a pencil-mustached lothario out of the 1970s 1950s 1890s [Note: Historical records confirm that there has been no decade in recorded human history in which Neil’s clothes, haircut, and mustache would be considered fashionable and attractive. –Eds] Less traumatizing than Neil, who will soon cast aside Tommie like a used tissue, is Gary, aka “Boy Tommie.” Clearly this lookalike duo is destined for romance, at which point all of time and space will collapse into a black hole of bland mopiness from which nothing, not even fun, can escape.

I really thought for a minute that Tommie was supposed to be wearing a bolo tie, but it turns out that it’s just a Victorian locket or something. Still, she is looking rather Old Western, and not in a good way.

Before I conclude, I do want to cast a look back at a couple of gems from last week. I certainly don’t mean this as a disparagement of Uncle Lumpy’s fine job filling in, but it’s just that he doesn’t necessarily share all of my incomprehensible comics obsessions, one of which is old people having sex.

Judge Parker and Crankshaft, 2/1/07

It was too slow-moving and pointless to cover here, but I always thought there was something a little odd in the interaction between Rachel and her regular butler (who now seems to be locked in his sickroom, totally forgotten) in the weeks leading up to Abbey and Neddy’s arrival in Paris. I don’t even want to know about the twisted power dynamics that go on in a sexual relationship between an old gazillionare biddy and her manservant. I do know that I love Rachel’s expression in panel two. It says, “Yeah, that’s right, you sexy young mulleted whippersnapper, I’m eighty years old and dying of cancer, but I’ve been gettin’ me some hot servant tail for decades, while you can’t even bed your own husband by wearing something low-cut and getting him boozed up!”

Crankshaft’s face, meanwhile, bears the ashen expression of a lonely widower who is suddenly reminded that he hasn’t felt the intimate touch of another human being in decades. That’s Crankshaft for you, which mainly serves to provide comic relief for Funky Winkerbean.

Finally, yesterday’s Watch Your Head had an amusing take on Curtis.

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Mary Worth, 1/16/07

Wow, so Mary’s arrived in Vietnam! And she’s managed to check into that country’s most cracker-tastic hotel! It looks like our bow-tie wearing desk clerk has only been Asian-ized thanks to a last-minute introduction of “sallow” by the coloring sweatshop gnomes, who are themselves no doubt based somewhere in Southeast Asia (though probably not Vietnam, as wages there are too high; I’m thinking Myanmar).

The happy Aryan couple in the background of panel two sure are excited to start their Vietnamese adventure; in fact, the redhead looks particularly excited, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

Pluggers, 1/16/07

Sure, this is mainly a gentle pun on “overlook,” but I think it’s telling and hilarious just what it is Dog-Man is looking at over his reading glasses. He didn’t forget to buy milk and bread at the supermarket; he forgot to take the pill he needs to keep his ham-clogged circulatory system in something resembling working order. Because pluggers need expensive prescription medication in order to live.

Also, to the surprise of nobody, pluggers have trouble distinguishing between the plural and the possessive in writing. Pluggers, I think you might need some unwelcome education from Bob the Angry Flower.

Marvin, 1/16/07

Wow, remember last week, when Marvin was cracking wise about the massive dump he just took? Bet you never thought you’d look back on that and think it was classy and tasteful.

Mark Trail, 1/16/07

“Uh-oh, here comes your dad. He’s going to see the beaver!”

I … I don’t think there’s anything I can add to that.

Crankshaft, 1/16/07

Ha ha! Crankshaft is mad because he thinks that “lifestyle” is code for “gay”.

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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.