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Gil Thorp, 7/11/07

Ha ha! Oh, man, the Gil Thorp summer hijinks are getting started even more quickly than I could have hoped! I’m totally in love with Gail Martin, the “rock and roll Carole King,” as she was called yesterday; truly, nothing shouts “rock and roll” like a collared shirt and a long braid that you clutch dramatically to your chest while you belt out your non-hits and your banjo player grooves behind you. This looks exactly like the kind of scene where a brawl would break out, and I look forward to tomorrow’s weirdly proportioned and strangely angled fisticuffs. Since Kelly has a troubled past with guys with rage issues, this should provide excellent fuel for one of the eleven rapidly crosscut dramas that will be entertaining us until football practice starts up again.

Apartment 3-G, 7/11/07

Ruby’s dialogue says “funny Texan with more realistic ideals of beauty than these supposedly sophisticated New York City girls,” but her solemn expression in panel three, along with Tommie and Margo’s panicked exchange of glances, says “violent feederism.” In two weeks, look for the two of them to be tied to their chairs, their faces smeared with tangy barbecue sauce, begging for mercy, as Ruby says, “Nuh-uh, Maggie, you still only got one chin!”

Ziggy, 7/11/07

If you thought that the sight of a desperate, insane, bald dwarf with no pants jabbering about the dishonesty of inanimate objects while thrusting a fifteen-year-old household appliance at bemused service worker wouldn’t be funny, well, today’s Ziggy is here to be prove you wrong. I actually laughed aloud at this. Ziggy may continue to exist, as far as I’m concerned.

As I look at it more, I’m sort of hypnotized by the text in Ziggy’s word balloon. The symmetry between the sentence-initial “i” (lowercase, in defiance of all known typographical conventions) and the final exclamation mark, makes it look like he’s actually shouting “T lies!” in Spanish. Which, for my money, is even funnier.

Luann, 7/11/07

I’m only marginally less sick of Brad-Toni than I am of Curtis-Michelle, but this sequence is growing on me. If Toni ends up running off with uberskeeze TJ because of his cooking (or “cooking”) skills, I will be willing to forgive a lot that’s happened in the last few years.

Dick Tracy, 7/11/07

It just wouldn’t be Dick Tracy if the payoff didn’t include somebody writhing around in pain. This isn’t the optimistic fantasy land of Mark Trail; those eyes aren’t growing back.

Family Circus, 7/11/07

Hmm, what’s the most alarming part of this? Yeah, I’m going to have to say that it’s Big Daddy Keane’s little smile.

Gasoline Alley, 7/11/07

Gasoline Alley: the one comic strip that isn’t afraid to show you how the system is stacked against the white man.

Spider-Man, 7/11/07

In a strip that brought us such epic battles as Dr. Octopus vs. his television, Spidey vs. a bowl-hatted butler, Spidey vs. his own outdated ideas of economics and gender, and, of course Spidey vs. a brick, today’s struggle between J. Jonah Jameson and Larry King may represent a dramatic zenith.

And, finally, I’m sure sexy toast-eating is somebody’s fetish, so:

Panel from Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/11/07

Go to town, perverts!

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For Better Or For Worse, 7/4/07

Hey, kids, didn’t your mothers ever teach you to either say something nice or not say anything at all? Well, I’m going to say something nice. I profoundly respect Liz an’ Anthony’s decision to flee in terror at the prospect of being forced into a conga line. That’s just good common sense.

On the note of their kissing and simul-thought-balooning, well, I … uh … BLAARRRGGGGGH.

There, it’s not saying anything if it’s vomiting.

Mary Worth, 7/4/07

Aw, yeah, it’s a CAT FIGHT FOR DR. DREW’S LOVE! Dawn Weston, who I believe (despite the evidence of her baby blue high-waisted slacks) is supposed to a college student, will have the advantages of youth, but I predict that those will not be able to stack up against Vera’s tightly-wound rage-filled nature. More entertaining will be the proxy battle for meddling supremacy between the two young people’s respective champions. Wilbur “Ask Wendy” Weston has, one must assume, always harbored a resentment against Mary, since his newspaper column yenta persona is clearly a pale imitation of the puppet master with whom he shares a condo complex. They’re both looking their best — Mary has finally managed to find a cravat the exact same color as her shirt, and Wilbur has gotten those five strands of hair to lay across his scalp just so — which will make it all the more satisfying when they tumble into the pool, hands locked around each other’s throats.

Gil Thorp, 7/4/07

“So, kids, the history lesson you learned this semester was: People who appear to be helpful, friendly authority figures are in most cases desperately needy frauds.”

Rex Morgan, M.D. 7/4/07

Oh, really, Rex, this isn’t right. Your wife saw him first. He’s just a simple teenage street hustler for New Orleans; he’s used to doing what he has to do, getting his money, and getting out. He isn’t emotionally prepared for the horrifying snake pit that is the Morgan marriage. Being caught in the Rex/June web of sexual spite is going to make him long for the comforting arms of FEMA.

God only knows what the good doctor is doing with that tennis racket. Presumably he found it next to the tackle box and thinks it’s part of the fishing equipment.

Family Circus, 7/4/07

The social worker had seen a lot of awful things in his years working for Child Protective Services, but there was something about this case that he just couldn’t get out of his mind. After a child’s agonizing death from salmonellosis, you’d expect the mother to be pretty rattled. But all this one kept saying — at the investigation, and later at the trial — was “He asked for it. It was what he wanted.” That was bad enough, but it was her little half smile that the social worker kept flashing back to while he was trying to fall asleep. Spookiest thing he ever saw, by God.

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Archie, 7/3/07

I’m sure that somewhere out there, there’s a whole community of folks whose main sexual kink involves watching footage of teenage boys eating out of feed bags. Presumably they’ve got a Latinate name for themselves and a Web site, and have worked out the details of how a flat-faced human can actually get food out of an apparatus designed for long-nosed horses. You’d think that today’s strip would be heaven for these folks, but I’m guessing that seeing everybody’s crown-hat-wearing asexual member of the Archie gang going to down on those oats, while the oddly realistically rendered Butterfly looks on stoically, might actually bring on a hint of shame. I can’t exactly put my finger on why, but I think it might have something to do with the creepily unpunctuated “MUNCH MUNCH”.

The Phantom, 7/3/07

A while back, the Phantom went through a quasi-interesting storyline in which he attempted to prepare his whiny, spoiled kids to take over for him after he passes on to the Big Skull Cave In The Sky. Mostly this involved a series of Survivor-style physical challenges, overseen by the peaceful Bandar, who are always around to save the bacon of spandex-clad white superheroes. At no point did he offer his own flesh and blood any advice nearly as helpful to a future superhero without super powers as he does to this random girl he just fished out of the ocean. As anyone who reads this strip regularly can tell you, the Phantom mostly defeats his enemies by being kind of a dick. I look forward to the next few days, as he gives a clinic on the subject.

Blondie, 7/3/07

If only there were some kind of magical telephone that would allow Dagwood to speak to Mr. Dithers and still stay in the tub! One that — and I know this sounds like some kind of crazy magic that you would read about in Harry Potter — isn’t tethered by a cord of any kind, but transmits its signal through some kind of wireless technology. Wouldn’t that be something?

Dagwood’s bath water is a shade of pale yellow that makes me kind of uncomfortable.

Apartment 3-G, 7/3/07

What is there to say about this except: Margo, we love you! Don’t ever change!

Margo has no compassion for Lu Ann’s carbon monoxide poisoning because Margo doesn’t require oxygen to live. Her metabolism is powered by pure, unadulterated spite.

Family Circus, 7/3/07

“Or we’ll shank you, Mommy! We mean it. Hand over the fucking cookies.”