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Apartment 3-G, 4/11/07

Panel one: The touch on the shoulder, plus the nature of the conversation, establishes that these two gentlemen are well acquainted with each other, and, despite minor conflicts, keep each other’s best interests at heart.

Panel two: An exaggerated look at the watch, plus a call to make plans later, indicates that one of the two characters needs to run.

Panel three: Oh no! Readers might not realize that these two are old friends, and about to part! We need a narration box, stat! As a bonus, it will screw up the rhythm of the strip, implying that there’s been some kind of gap in time between panels two and three!

Spider-Man, 4/11/07

I’m uninterested in the latest example of J. Jonah Creep’s epic self-absorption, and my curiosity is only vaguely piqued by the flight of that … brick? videotape? bundle of hundred-dollar bills? Whatever. I am, however, intrigued by the concept of a thought balloon coming from off-panel. A similarly positioned word balloon offers a comics-panel approximation of a situation in which you can hear someone but not see them; this seems to show that SOMEWHERE nearby, SOMEONE is thinking … but WHO?

Gil Thorp, 4/11/07

When I read today’s Gil Thorp, my eyes slid right over the bizarre wildlife analogies and traumatizing Paris Hilton joke to settle on that … thing … that the first basewoman is holding in the third panel. Is it a trash can lid? An enormous pair of black panties with a frilly trim? A rip in the fabric of space and time, revealing the soul-destroying black abyss that lies beyond our universe? After about a minute, I realized that we’re just supposed to be looking directly into the maw of a fielder’s mitt. That’s a minute I’ll never have back, and I resent it.

By the way, it appears that Hadley Baxendale and Steve Luhm fought for equal rights in vain: While I’m sure the baseball diamond has been mowed with laser-beam precision, the softball field appears to be covered in ankle-deep grass. The right fielder is standing in a particularly wooly patch, though, if we continue with the African herbivore metaphors, she may believe that it provides camouflage from predators.

Dick Tracy, 4/11/07

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve managed to avoid commenting on Dick Tracy ever since we met the completely demented Queen of Diamonds character. Today, things just get weirder as she discards her costume for reasons that are no more obvious than those that drove her to wear in the first place. It’s not like a lumpy person in a skin-tight black bodysuit with a face like a playing card is exactly inconspicuous, even if she isn’t carrying a supernaturally glowing gem.

Judge Parker, 4/11/07

For those of you not following along at home, Neddy and Abbey, fleeing from their ‘80s punker attackers, have ducked through a door off of an alley and into some mysterious workshop full of industrial supplies that they can turn into weapons. Presumably they will blow-torch their nemeses into submission, then dump their charred figures onto the steps of L’Académie française, where they will be dealt with for their crimes against French grammar. It looks like somebody’s gunning to have their strip turned into the next ultraviolent Robert Rodriguez-directed big screen comics adaptation.

Mark Trail, 4/11/07

Many of you have already noted that Mark is flying to confront Dan’s grieving widow on the back of a majestic goose, and driving from the gooseport in some kind of vehicle that lacks seats. I’m more disturbed by how excited Cherry is about the whole thing. “Oh, Mark, I’m so glad you didn’t call the police with your suspicions. I love it when you go off half-cocked on impromptu voyages of vengeance! Go get ’em, tiger! Don’t beat anyone to death unless you feel like it!”

Family Circus, 4/11/07

This, combined with this, leads me to believe that the Family Circus has a bee up its butt over recent findings that most Americans, including most of those who consider themselves Christians, are completely ignorant of the basics of the Bible and Christian theology. Obviously it will climax with an angry, melon-headed mob demanding that public schools bring back religious instructions for their poor, hell-bound students. Obviously their parents can’t be trusted to do it! They’re just as dumb!

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/1/07

Now, what’s this I hear about some of you actually complaining about this apparent climax to the current Rex Morgan, M.D., storyline? Are you people insane? What better way to nicely encapsulate the utter incompetence of everybody bipedal in this strip — health care professionals, cops, drug dealers and all — than to have the main villain — who, let me remind you, is (or until recently was) armed, like, with a gun — cowering and begging for mercy before some kind of spaniel mix who can’t weigh more than, what, forty pounds? Abbey the Wonderdog is awesome. I look forward to the next plot, where she successfully begins second-guessing Rex and June’s medical diagnoses. “Well, it’s probably flu, but — what’s that, girl? You think I should screen for pneumonia? Will do!”

Luann, 3/1/07

Don’t let the fact that I managed to snag such a lovely and charming wife fool you: in my single days, I wasn’t always 100 percent sure on just what it is the girls dug. Thus, rather than make assumptions, I’d like to pose a question to the ladies out there of appropriate persuasion and age range to date, if not Brad, then someone vaguely Brad-like. If some guy you had recently started seeing invited you over to his swingin’ bachelor pad/gingerbread house, and you walked into the living room and it was painted entirely black, which of the following would be closer to the first thing that would come to your mind?

• “Wow, an all-black living room! This is pretty cool! I dig this! I’m totally going to have sex with him!”
• “OH MY GOD HE’S BROUGHT ME INTO HIS RITUAL SACRIFICE CHAMBER GET ME OUT OF HERE HELP HELP HELP”

Dick Tracy, 3/1/07

I’m just putting this up here as a helpful reminder so that if anyone ever asks you, “Say, when did Dick Tracy stop being a reliably odd chestnut and start being a horrifying acid trip,” you can say, without hesitation, “March 1, 2007.”

Pluggers, 3/1/07

So … Cathy’s a plugger?

They’ll Do It Every Time, 3/1/07

“You sire a child, and for eighteen years they expect you to pay attention to them when you’d rather be watching television. Then they finally get out of your hair, but … wha-a-a-a-a? Now they have kids that you’re supposed to feel warmly towards! OH YEAH!”

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Archie, 2/20/07

I find it kind of amusing that this little drama of internecine hatred and sublimated violence is taking place among members of a bowling team named the “Buddies.”

The less said about the loving attention lavished on Archie’s crotch in panel three, the better.

Cathy, 2/20/07

I honestly have no interest whatsoever in passing judgment on Cathy’s exercise regimen and ability to adhere to same, but … what about the dog? Is she just going to have to go to the bathroom in the house? Or what?

Dick Tracy, 2/20/07

If Dick looks disgruntled in the third panel, it’s because he knows that Beetle Bailey introduced this character under the name of “Chip Gizmo” in 2002, and there are few things in comics more humiliating than being beaten by half a decade to some pop cultural touchstone by Beetle Bailey. Plus, Chip Gizmo doesn’t look like a smug, svelte Richard Nixon.

Gil Thorp, 2/20/07

Dear America: Tyler and his girlfriend staged the attack on Tyler in order to get R.J. in trouble and thus solidify Tyler’s position as a starter on the Mudlark basketball team. You may now cease paying attention to Gil Thorp for the next several weeks. Signed, The Comics Curmudgeon.

P.S. You’re welcome.

Marvin, 2/20/07

Ha! It’s funny because the dog is pooping!

Wait, did I say “funny?” I meant “horrifying and shameful.” Marginally less horrifying and shameful than when it was babies pooping, but only marginally.