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The Comics Curmudgeon Spring 2010 Fundraiser

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Breaking News Update — President Obama reads Pickles; nation mourns.

Political blog Wonkette, for which Josh writes reviews of editorial comics under the title Cartoon Violence, has published a photograph showing a Sunday comic on President Obama’s Oval Office desk. Which comic? Alas, it’s Pickles — which never appears here because it is beneath notice even in its lameness. Original comic here. We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

Faithful readers of the Comics Curmudgeon will have long ago figured out my schtick: scan for a theme that links two or three comics, riff on it with a few cross-references to established CC tropes, glissade to some bizarre plot turn in a soap or clumsy foulup in a joke-a-day strip, and so to bed.

Mostly the comics oblige, with a banquet of lunatic plotlines laid out like gleaming slabs of red meat, verbal and graphic faux pas arrayed around them like trays of toothsome hors d’oeuvres. But on nights when those tables are bare I am alone, straining through the muck beneath Quigmans or Cleats for some — any — undigested morsel, my anguished moans for this cup to pass met with stony silence, except for the ticking of the clock toward 1:46 AM and spatter of desperate tears on my keyboard.

It is in those dark hours that I turn to Crock.

Crock, 3/25/10

And what do I get? A technology joke rejected as too lame for Pluggers (“A plugger’s netbook is the Cabela’s catalog.”) or For Better or For Worse (“Is John gambling online in the den?” “Yes, he’s on the netbook … in his bet nook!” “Hahahaha!”). Marred further, if such a thing is even possible, by the redundant “three-day” in panel one.

Thanks, Crock.

Mark Trail, 3/25/10

Ah, Mark — never too busy for the Safety Lecture, are we? Y’know, if Gladys had her wits about her, she’d shoot Mark in panel three and claim he looked just like a purse-snatcher.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/25/10

June is intrigued: ineffective pleading by a nominal male; icy rejection by the bitch in charge — looks like love to her!

Dick Tracy, 3/25/10

After-hours Exposition Dump in Dick Tracy. Public service, really — saves decent citizens the trouble of paying attention.

The Lockhorns, 3/25/10

“Agree with him and I’ll put another dent in that head of yours, Pullman!”

A sincere thank you to everyone who has contributed to the Comics Curmudgeon already this week. If you’re not yet among them, please consider this: lots of factors go into choosing whether to blog or not, but for a freelance writer/editor like Josh the tradeoff between blogging time and income is inescapable. The more we can make the Comics Curmudgeon an economically rational choice, the more time and enthusiasm Josh can devote to our entertainment. And who doesn’t want that?

— Uncle Lumpy

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Dick Tracy, 3/13/10

I have been told that comics artists often save material they think is kind of weak — or, in continuity strips, not particularly plot advancing — for Saturday, which is the day with the lowest newspaper circulation. Thus, it came as a mild surprise to see someone actually get shot in Saturday’s Dick Tracy. But then again, someone expiring relatively quietly after receiving a single bullet to the gut is kind of weak material when it comes to Dick Tracy violence, so hopefully this is just the beginning in a sequence that will drench the comics page in blood by, say, Wednesday.

Hi and Lois, 3/13/10

Remember the grim scene in Leaving Las Vegas when Elizabeth Shue can only interest desperate drunk Nicolas Cage in her sexually by pouring liquor all over herself? Well, this is the sexless suburban version. Hi can only be bothered to think about basic household chores if he can associate it with his beloved alcohol.

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Mary Worth, 2/18/10

Oh my goodness, SO MANY DRAMAS AND SADNESSES in today’s Mary Worth! Dawn abruptly puts a stop to her intimate moment with Wilbur as she notices Kurt lurking in the other room, puking into his hand. Then she dishes some dirt about her father’s inability to sustain a relationship. “Yeah, after mom woke up one day and said ‘Holy Christ, I’m married to Wilbur Weston?’ I lived in Connecticut with her … until I got caught robbing a liquor store, and the judge told me I had to choose between juvie and moving to California to live with my dad. When I think about the fact that I’d be a free woman back on the streets again if I’d made that first choice, whereas now I’m still living here … ugh, it gives me chills. Anyway, you didn’t miss much, trust me.” Meanwhile, Wilbur, left to his own devices, has immediately wandered back to the computer, desperately trolling Facebook for more long-lost offspring who will at least briefly pretend to love him.

Dick Tracy, 2/18/10

A wild-eyed maniac spouting nonsense? A group of lanky shadow-figures, waving their arms about in panic? An extreme close-up on the stylized face of a woman keening a single piercing note of pure terror? The best Dick Tracy in many a moon? Yes, yes, yes, and yes!

Beetle Bailey, 2/18/10

It appears that Killer’s constant tree-fucking ways aren’t just expressions of his perverted nature; he’s actually part of a top-secret military experiment to breed intelligent and deadly tree-human hybrids. You know who’s going to freak out and emit a single panicked ball of sweat when he sees one of those hairy prehensile root-tentacles slithering into his cave? Osama bin Laden, that’s who!

Family Circus, 2/18/10

Mommy and daddy better not hear that traitor talk, Dolly, or someone’s going to learn that one ought not to let one’s aesthetics affect one’s patriotic allegiances … in Gitmo.

Jumble, 2/18/10

As it features a desperate looking couple sitting around a kitchen that’s almost completely empty except for a pile of bills, I’m pretty sure this is most depressing Jumble ever. I keep staring at the answer blanks, and all I can think of to put there is “HAVE ANY MONEY.”