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Beetle Bailey, 10/13/09

Many people turn to Beetle Bailey in their local newspaper and say “What, they still publish this?” Wait, did I say “many”? Because I meant “all.” Anyway, of those who put forth any more brain effort than that to the matter, many wonder what, exactly, Camp Swampy is for, since none of its soldiers are ever shipped out to fight in America’s various wars, which is just as well because their training regimen seems suspiciously lax. But today’s strip reveals that the sloth and squalor exhibited by the base’s inhabitants are just a cover for its real purpose as the secret research center for the next generation of deadly military technologies. Just look at that blackboard! Numbers … arithmetic … physics … my God, what sort of superbombs are these geniuses working on? Known braniac Plato is of course one of the top researchers, living incognito as an enlisted man to throw off suspicion. It’s too bad Beetle’s got a little too interested in matters above his pay grade, though, because now Plato’s going to have to beat him to death with a broom.

Crankshaft, 10/13/09

Oh, look at these two damned souls! Every non-recurring Crankshaft character must fulfill one of two roles: “Person who makes an unfunny pun or play on words while smirking grotesquely” or “person who responds dubiously to said wordplay.” Like a chorus in a Greek tragedy, they manifest themselves to occasionally offer a commentary on the other fate-crushed denizens of the strip, only to fade back into the wings, ready to appear again later as another smirking/dubiously responding pair.

Apartment 3-G, 10/13/09

Someday, we’ll look back and say, “Gee, Apartment 3-G turned into Aristotle Papagoras Gets So Much Middle-Aged Ass so gradually we barely even noticed it.” Margo gets plenty of facetime in this strip, so I’m willing to allow for her brief absence, but if I were Lu Ann I’d be a little miffed that we’re following the swath Dr. P is cutting through Manhattan’s ladies rather than her tormented family life. Tommie, of course, is glad to avoid to narrative’s glare, because every time she appears in the strip she suffers terribly.

Family Circus, 10/13/09

And that’s when Jeffy learned that he wasn’t the fairest of them all, at all.

Pluggers, 10/13/09

I have to admit that I am charmed by the look of shock on the he-plugger’s face in the background. “My goodness, my poor wife has been possessed by that demon-widget! It’s going to take a lot of snake-handling to fix this!”

Funky Winkerbean, 10/13/09

“Someday soon, because we’re going to be in the hospital, because of illness. It could happen at any time! Cancer! Hospital! Cancer death hospital death death death!”

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Crankshaft, 10/9/09

This week’s Crankshaft has involved the angry, befuddled members of this investment group talking themselves into selling their stock at the bottom of the market. Jeff’s sole contribution has been to compulsively offer up terrible, Crankshaft-style puns, all the while wearing the look of anxious self-loathing you see in panel two. It’s as if he’s actually been possessed by his father-in-law, which scenario does have the benefit of probably meaning that Crankshaft is dead.

Mary Worth, 10/9/09

There’s been a lot of unsettling imagery in Mary Worth over the years, but I’m not sure anything in this feature has creeped me out as much as what appears to be the weird afterimage of Mary’s face at the far right of panel two here. Is this a mirror in which her reflection has become detached from her corporal form, indicating that her soul is no longer firmly associated with her body? Or are Mary and Dr. Jeff passing through the section of the hospital where all of Mary’s clones float in enormous brine-filled tanks, just waiting for the day when she needs to harvest their organs to keep her alive?

Family Circus, 10/9/09

At long last, one of the Family Circus pets is depicted doing something useful!

Funky Winkerbean, 10/9/09

In this strip? Good luck with that.

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Family Circus, 10/8/09

If you’re like me (which is to say the sort of person who Thinks Too Much About Things, and is a little OCD), your first response upon seeing the numbers in today’s Family Circus was to whip out the old calculator, Billy-style, and see what kind of timeframe we’re talking about. 4,206 days is 11 years and 191 days! And one of the reasons I was curious about this figure is that I’m never entirely clear on how old any of the Keane Kids are supposed to be. It’s hard to tell, given their gnomish stature and obvious cognitive deficits, but, assuming that kids are still getting their license at 16 like they traditionally have, today’s numbers put Billy at four and a half years old, which struck me as wildly off, considering he’s supposed to be the oldest of four, and he and his little sister both go to school. Then I realized that there was a sure-fire way to determine Billy’s canonical age: the “drawn by Billy” panels, which, after a bit of searching through my archives, yielded up the crucial bit of data: Billy is 7, and so appears to be proclaiming that he won’t be getting his driver’s license until he’s 18 or maybe even 19! I feel bitter for him making me think about this as much as I have, but at least I get to point out that he either cheerfully expects to repeatedly fail his drivers test, or is incapable of doing math, even with a calculator.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 10/8/09

Speaking of things that irritate me all out of proportion to their actual transgressions, why does Barney Google and Snuffy Smith think we need a title card informing us that we’re going “shoppin’ wif th’ Tuttles”? Do they think that we’ll be dangerously disoriented by seeing the strip’s trademarked dialectical banter thrown about by a pair of risible hillbilly stereotypes who aren’t part of the strip’s core cast? Please, give us some credit. Most readers will see vaguely old-timey rustics crackin’ wise and droppin’ Gs from the ends of gerunds, smile wanly, and move on with their lives without troubling themselves to place the narrative in some larger context; Snuffy Smith devotees, meanwhile, will immediately recognize Hootin’ Holler’s sole pastor, and will be pleased to see that he remains a money-grubbing fraud.

Mary Worth, 10/8/09

Good lord, in the second panel, Dr. Jeff looks less like a father rushing to his daughter’s side to comfort her in her time of need and more like the leader of an angry vigilante mob, or perhaps like a majestic but enraged lowland gorilla. It’s almost as if he’s hoping that he’ll spot a heroin dealer or user on his drive to the hospital and have the opportunity run them down with his car. I was wondering why he was so worked up, but then remembered that Scott is, of course, the son of Dr. Jeff’s one true love. I can’t wait to see the bloody revenge he wreaks on Santa Royale’s comically dressed underworld!

Marvin, 10/8/09

Ah ha, I finally figured out what this week-long feces-plot is really getting at: it’s Marvin’s origin story! “And from that day on, the world knew him as … THE PANTS-SHITTER!”

Apartment 3-G, 10/8/09

Isn’t Margo’s dad supposed to be some rich businessman? Shouldn’t he be able to afford enough Just For Men to dye the hair on the sides of his head as well?