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Marmaduke, 2/2/11

You know, there are some jokes that I feel like I do to death a bit on my blog, and I begin to think, “Oh, I’m really blowing what I see in this comic way out of proportion.” Among those jokes are my two main Marmaduke tropes: that Marmaduke is a flesh-eating hell-demon, and that his owner is Adolf Hitler. But then I see a panel like this and I feel entirely justified. I mean, look at the guy in the Lost and Found window! Does he look like someone mildly put out because a dog has somehow wandered into his workspace and the dog’s owner is making a little joke? No, he’s quavering in abject terror. The sweat, the grimace of pure panic — that’s how someone looks when confronted with a terrifying, slavering monster who’s stashed a dozen eviscerated corpses that it’s “found” all over the furniture, and is gazing with big-eyed affection at history’s most notorious mass murderer.

Ziggy, 2/2/11

Ha ha, that J.K. Rowling, what a money-grubber, am I right? Not like Ziggy, a franchise that’s all about artistic dignity, and that will wrap itself up with grace once Ziggy kills Voldemort or whatever. Boy, somebody’s bitter about something, I tell you what.

Mary Worth, 2/2/11

Oh my God, Dawn is addicted to the Internet! This is what happens when you let vicious technology pusher Jeff Corey interact with your daughters. Only a mature, strong-willed man can grapple with the info-beast that is the Internet and expect to come out a whole person.

Crock, 2/2/11

Is this … is this about porn? The soldier from the fort wants to check out porn, but is wearing a bag over his head because he’s embarrassed, and also the porn is already checked out? It’s interesting to discover that my impulse to force comics into making some kind of sense is more powerful than my preference to not under any circumstances think about the characters from Crock as sexual beings.

Family Circus, 2/2/11

“Mommy also told me I’m not a groundhog, so that’s got me bummed out.”

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Mark Trail, 1/27/11

A couple of days ago a faithful reader left this comment on the blog:

Excuse me, but where the fuck is Mark Trail? Or has this site gone completely to hell?

I always feel strongly that foul-mouthed belligerence should get its way, so here you go! Honestly, I haven’t found the endless discussion of Ben Smith’s oversized lures (all the better to please a woman smuggle diamonds inside) particularly compelling, but I am enjoying today’s strip, in which Kelly natters on without waiting for Mark to respond. And that’s just as well, as I’m assuming that he long ago tuned her out. If we could see inside his mind, there would just be an adorable squirrel running back and forth on a tree branch, chittering amiably.

Apartment 3-G, 1/27/11

Speaking of tuning people out, this date has apparently gotten so dull that even Lu Ann has stopped paying attention to it. “Wait, you did what now? Spent money … on a thing … look, are we going to make out or what?”

Mary Worth, 1/27/11

Meanwhile, Mary Worth has hit a new crescendo of edge-of-your-seat tension, as Dr. Jeff seems insistent on forcing Mary to start using a Kindle-thing by any means necessary. Why is Mary resisting the 21st century so strongly? Does she fear that she might accidentally subscribe to this very blog, read about her adventures, and implode into paradoxical nothingness when she realizes she is fictional, and ridiculous?

Pluggers, 1/27/11

Surprisingly few Comics Curmudgeon readers have broken the Pluggers code — perhaps we all have too much dignity? — but based on the name I have a sneaking suspicion that “Kanomi Kelrast” is one of us. And if enjoying the occasional microwavable processed food treat makes us all pluggers, well, then so be it.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/27/11

Never doubt the ability of even the corniest strip to occasionally break your heart. The fact that Bearded Husband Whose Name I Forget calls his wife “Sugar Bun” in panel one just makes the strip’s comical misunderstanding all the more poignant.

Crock, 1/27/11

Wow, I never realized until today how few installments of Crock involve the title character’s romantic life.

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Crock, 1/25/11

Today we have an excellent demonstration of the inner workings of the underimagined hell-world that is Crock. Our action involves Figowitz, who is always slouched despondently against the exterior wall of the Foreign Legion’s fort, and Captain Preppie, who for dramatic reasons should be shown sitting jauntily with his legs crossed. Except: there is no furniture upon which the good captain can place his shapely buttocks in Figowitz’s blasted desert sitting-spot! What to do? Summon a vaguely cuboid sitting-box out of nowhere, of course. Once Preppie gets up to stroll away, this mysterious plinth can simply vanish into the ether of narrative convenience out of which it emerged.

On a surely totally unrelated note, the chunk missing from Preppie’s right elbow in panel one is no doubt of aesthetic significance too sublime to be understood by a ruffian such as myself; we certainly shouldn’t assume that this particular drawing of the handsome captain has been carelessly cut and pasted from an earlier strip.

Apartment 3-G, 1/25/11

Normally when your new boyfriend drives you to a creepy abandoned house somewhere in New Jersey, that’s a sign of very bad news to come. But Paul drives a huge, pearly white Hummer! He must be a classy guy!

Marvin, 1/25/11

The WikiLeaks saga, combining as it does political intrigue, cloak-and-dagger spy drama, philosophical debates about the merits of openness vs. secrecy in different realms, and accusations of sexual assault, has enough inherent drama to serve as a the foundation for a whole series of fascinating novels. Or, if you’re Marvin, you could use it as the basis for a pun about pissing yourself!