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Blondie, 7/12/09

I’ve often wondered at the obviously complex relationship between Dagwood and Mr. Dithers. For a while, I thought that Dithers was really Dagwood’s millionaire father, who disowned him when he decided to marry low-class flapper Blondie (this is the strip’s pre-Depression backstory, FYI) but who was never able to cut the kid out of his life completely, and so has kept him employed despite his obvious incompetence. I don’t think that’s true, but it’s hard to tell exactly what keeps these two together, not just professionally but socially as well. Today at least hints at the source of their codependence: their relationship provides the sort of dramatic highs and lows, the anger and catharsis, that their stable, happy, and boring home lives never could.

Normally, of course, I’d be imputing some kind of sexual relationship or tension here, but it’s obvious to anyone who reads Blondie that the only kind of thing that stirs Dagwood’s loins involves pastrami and lots of mustard.

Crock, 7/12/09

As a regular reader of the shambling nightmare that is Crock, the core grotesqueries of this particular strip — that the dog intends to urinate on the cactus as an act of malice, and that the cactus can bend on its own accord and fire off its spines as defensive missiles — come as no surprise to me. I am a little perturbed to learn that the camel’s name is “Quench.” I understand that there is a certain conceptual nexus between camels and water-drinking, but it doesn’t seem quite right; it’d be better as the name of a robot that, in an ill-conceived promotional exercise, can morph into a bottle of the new Quench™ brand sport energy drink, in the upcoming Paramount/Dreamworks film Transformers 3: Revenge of the Thirsty.

Oh, and the camel is wearing a hat, which is also inappropriate.

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Crock, 7/6/09

When you have a narrative form like a syndicated comic strip that runs on and on for decades, there are some interesting results. For instance, there may be features of your strip’s universe that made some sort of sense, or were at least explained, at the time of their introduction, but which have either slowly mutated with time or had all knowledge of their significance lost, and whose existence today is taken as a given by all concerned despite their baffling nature. Take, for instance, today’s Crock. Obviously the presence of tiny hotboxes just outside the Legion’s fort, in which prisoners condemned for some forgotten crime sit hunched over day after day for years, slowly going mad from the hot sun and the isolation, is easily parsed. But why exactly are the sides of these portable torture chambers marked with giant keyholes? Wouldn’t the key required to operate such a lock be over three feet long? Wouldn’t the mechanism for such a lock intrude onto the prisoner’s already miniscule living space? Is it perhaps not a real lock at all, but just some sort of symbol of the State’s ability to imprison on a whim, and indefinitely? Perhaps this reminds the cook of his complicity in the workings of this monstrous dictatorship, which would explain his otherwise baffling anger at having to walk approximately five feet outside to dump some greyish glop into the prisoner’s bowl.

Gil Thorp, 7/6/09

Oh, Gil, if you’re going to openly acknowledge what I asserted last week — that summertime is for wackiness in Gil Thorp — then you’d better be prepared to follow through on your promise, or you’ll just break my heart all the more. Gil having lunch with vintage clothing aficionado and former teen hobo Ted Pearse is a good start; having some kind of gangland shooting happen right outside the Thorps’ front door (involving Marty Moon? please?) is even better.

Mary Worth, 7/6/09

You know, every once in a while even Mary Worth can surprise me. For instance, yesterday I could have only thought of two possible outcomes to Mary’s weeks-long attempt to browbeat Delilah back into her loveless marriage: acquiescence or suicide. Never did I imagine that she had the strength of will to shrug off the onslaught, put on her sexiest/most insane halter top-yellow fishnets combo, and go cruising the Charterstone grounds for all her ex-boyfriends, determined to rip their stripey shirts off and have her way with them right there on the concrete (which is already cracking only a few years after it was poured, thanks to Mary’s insistence that they go with the lowest bidder). Mary looks like she’s having a stroke in the second panel, and why wouldn’t she: she’s discovered someone immune to her meddling powers! I’m surprised she isn’t just melting into a puddle.

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Spider-Man, 6/7/09

My only experience with beloved Marvel Comics character/franchise/cash cow/fetish object Wolverine comes from watching the first two X-Men movies, so I’m very much looking forward to getting lots of huffy blowback for making fun of what I don’t understand as the beclawèd one slums his way through the Spider-Man newspaper strip. My first big laugh came with Spidey’s thought ballooning, in which he wonders why Wolverine hasn’t stayed in the limitless wide-open spaces of Westchester County (population: 923,459; population density, 1,847 people per square mile). “Wolverine doesn’t think the cultural attractions, amazing nightlife, and youthful energy of New York make up for the high rents, crowding, and dicey public schools! He prefers ample parking, neatly trimmed lawns, and chain restaurants to public transit, high rises, and hole-in-the-wall ethnic joints — just like a real wolverine!”

Of course, as Mark Trail has taught us, real Wolverines do need to come into human settlements to steal weapons, which may offer a clue to Wolverine’s intentions in Manhattan.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 6/7/09

Poor Uriah looks more panicked to be seized bodily than one would expect if the upshot will just be a little impromptu umpiring. I thus assume that the dialogue has been bowdlerized by the syndicate editors in the final panel, with “Shanghai ya into bein’ thar ump” replacing “slice ya up as an off’ring to thar pagan god” and “Play ball!!” replacing “Soon our holy altar will steam with sacrificial blood!!”

Crock, 6/7/09

It should come as little surprise that characters in the poorly drawn hell-world of Crock would choose the easy way out: suicide.