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Herb and Jamaal, 3/11/10

Ha ha, this is without out a doubt the greatest Herb and Jamaal ever. Rev. Croom just wants to have a little lunch in peace — but no, this little creep, the one who only shows up at church at Christmas and Easter, and whose mother-in-law he wishes would only show up at Christmas and Easter, has to badger him about eternity and crap. Fine, there’s nobody else here, there’s plausible deniability. “Sorry, kid, you’re going to be tortured in Hell for all eternity with the other damned souls,” he says, just stone-cold sucking his tea through a straw. “Now are you going to bring me my lunch or what?”

Mark Trail, 3/11/10

If I didn’t already know that this Mark Trail storyline was essentially a repeat of one that ran thirty years ago, I’d say that we’re witnessing a quantum leap forward in Trailian storytelling. As a rule, the narrative is relentlessly linear, and thus I assumed that yesterday’s shameless flirting was going to lead inexorably to some major plot point. Instead, it may have just been a bit of throwaway color meant to provide Mark with a key piece of information. Mark, meanwhile, seems to have made the monumental discovery that not every firing of a neuron in side his hair-helmeted skull needs to result in the immediate verbalization of the resulting idea: note in panel two that he’s actually managed to muster a genuine thought balloon. This first feeble specimen only encapsulates the vague notion of questioning, but with effort Mark may discover that it’s possible to think whole words or even sentences without saying them aloud.

Momma, 3/11/10

I find the scenario depicted here rather puzzling. It’s not because Momma’s being hit on by some gnomish bow-tied individual — there’s a lid for every pot, as my father once said to me, though in this case it appears to be a gold-digging lid; rather, I just have no clear idea of where exactly the action is supposed to be taking place. What setting might include a Momma-sized easy chair and a potted plant, but also be open to the public so that strangers might wander in and harass her? Is he cruising for babes down at the senior center?

Family Circus, 3/11/10

Little known fact: Grandma appears in the strip only occasionally because she spends most of her time — and most of her grandchildren’s’ inheritance — following ’80s glam-rock band Cinderella around the country. When Cinderella isn’t touring, she keeps busy jamming with her Cinderella tribute band, Glass Slipper.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 3/11/10

They’re still cousins, though, so this may make Thanksgiving dinner awkward.

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Mary Worth, 3/8/10

When I was a kid, some Buffalo Bills star or other had been suspended for failing a drug test, and I remember having a conversation with my father (who was then the director of an alcoholism clinic) about why someone would endanger their very lucrative career for an occasional high. He explained, in a formulation that has always stuck with me, the addict’s trajectory: first using drugs makes you feel good, then you need drugs to feel good, then you need drugs to not feel bad.

This statement really jumped into my mind today when watching the suddenly diminished Clan Weston hash out the aftermath of Kurt’s duplicity over yet another sandwich-based meal. These white-bread-and-baloney-and-mayonnaise sandwiches ought to be a comfort to Wilbur and Dawn in these trying days; but Wilbur is just shoving his in the general direction of his mouth without even giving it a glance, let alone pausing to savor the subtle interplay of flavors. He’s like a junkie in some abandoned rowhouse, shooting up because of his raw need and long ago forgetting the transcendent high that got him hooked in the first place, and his sandwich requirements have just become a semi-conscious undercurrent in his life now. He probably doesn’t even realize that he’s got a second sandwich all queued up on this dinner plate ready to go once the current one has been devoured. Did he even bother to put condiments on that one?

The really sad part of this scene is Dawn, who’s only of college age, and yet seems equally blasé about sandwich use. She appears to be using her sandwich as a prop for gesticulation, just waving it around for a bit until she’s ready to cram it down her gullet with as little chewing as possible. She learned it from watching you, Dad. She learned it from watching you.

Family Circus, 3/8/10

Many victims of repeated trauma eventually form a sort of bond with their oppressors; in hostage situations, this is called Stockholm Syndrome. Thus, after repeated exposure to Jeffy’s naked ass, I seem to have become inured to disgust and indeed experienced brief amusement at today’s Family Circus panel. Most experts agree that a swift and merciful death would be for the best.

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Family Circus, 3/4/10

Today’s comics mostly didn’t grab me, but I did quite enjoy this installment from the 50th anniversary flashbacks to the first week of the Family Circus. Dolly, grinning like a meth-crazed demon, announces to a horrified gathering of Eisenhower-era matrons that she plans to end her little recital with a tune about a stab-happy killer from a Weimar-era Marxist agitprop musical. Her accompanist (mother?) is too enfeebled to resist her demands, barely being able to maintain consciousness as her horrifically tight girdle squeezes all the air out of her lungs, but someone’s going to be turned over to HUAC before the afternoon is out. Can it just be 1960 in the Family Circus forever?