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Archie, 8/2/07

The Archie Joke-Generating Laugh Unit 3000 managed to churn out a serviceable punchline today (by the abominably low standards of the legacy comics industry) but it’s the weirdness of the setup that really places this strip squarely in the uncanny valley. Who is gap-toothed Leroy? Why does Archie hold him in such contempt? Did Archie’s chest expand between panels one and two, or did his head shrink? Why is he wearing an ankle-monitoring bracelet? Why are Riverdale’s beaches studded with ominous-looking targets? Sadly, I fear that the all of these anomalies are just the AJGLU’s idea of background color.

Mark Trail, 8/2/07

Seeing Mark announce “I’m your worst nightmare!” is of course a delight, a little love letter to everyone everywhere. Still, it wouldn’t be Mark Trail if the dialog emphasis failed to violate all norms of conversation among English-speaking human beings. Mark emerges from his hidey-bush and bellows “I KNOW ABOUT IT!” at the top of his lungs, then politely adds “I’m your worst nightmare” in his indoor voice. Perhaps all the boldfacing in the first word balloon tired him out.

Anyway, we are of course all on tenterhooks to see tomorrow’s punchery. Your firearm is no match for Mark’s bare fists, Buzzard!

Mary Worth, 8/2/07

If you ever needed proof that Mary Worth is some kind 18th-level Jedi ninja archbishop of meddling, this is it. By having a relationship with a somewhat older man, Dawn is enjoying herself in an ever-so-slightly unconventional way, which Mary obviously thinks is the moral equivalent to genocide. Rather than let our young romantic see her revulsion at this depravity, however, she instead pretends to be on Dawn’s side, only to plant a tiny seed in her mind by comparing her and Dr. Drew to the Camerons, Charterstone’s most loathsome couple. Now, every time Lover Boy, M.D., moves in for a smooch, Dawn will be unable to keep from visualizing Ian’s bloated, chinbeared visage, purple with drink and contempt, hovering before her. She’ll move on to a more age-appropriate boyfriend — or a nunnery — in no time, and Mary with allow herself a brief, subtle smile of satisfaction.

UPDATE: In this context, I simply must post to this excellent post at Subdivided We Stand, from faithful reader Smitty Smedlap.

The Phantom, 8/2/07

I know it’s not socially acceptable to test this out, but I’m reasonably sure that, while there are probably several more or less accurate ways to transliterate the sound made by an oar handle plunging into a man’s solar plexus, “PUNT!” is probably not one of them. I will allow that “UHHFF!!” is probably a pretty good approximation of the sound one would make when so oared, however.

Note that the Ghost-Who-Uses-The-Mori-Youth-Entrusted-Into-His-Care-As-Bait has sent a group of mostly naked teenagers with improvised bludgeons into a fracas against men armed with automatic rifles, while he stands above and fires a desultory round or two from his pistol in the general direction of the action. I suppose that if he leapt down, we’d all be denied yet another shot of his stripey ass.

Marmaduke, 8/2/07

This is one of the filthier things I’ve seen today. If you’re a sicko like me, it’s fun to imagine the caption without the second sentence.

Dick Tracy, 8/2/07

“The chief has just issued an APB for an elderly man!” And the cooks at Gitmo start making fewer halal meals and more bran muffins and prune juice as the several million Americans who fit this one-sentence description are rounded up for interrogation.

The Family Circus, 8/2/07

Sadly, the attempt to assassinate the Keane clan was botched. “Next time,” swore a cowed human race, sick to death of their antics. “Next time.”

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Gil Thorp, 7/30/07

Thank God the helpful narration box tells us that Gail Martin’s tour has hit the weirdly specific spot of Wheeling, W.Va., because based on the soul-crushing Stalinist architecture on display in panel one, I would have guessed that she was just finishing up three triumphant nights in Bratislava’s Štadión Petržalka.

As many of you have noted, Gil Thorp’s trademarked Hideous Disembodied Claw-Thing™ makes an appearance in panel three, but there is hope for humankind: when you compare it to its previous appearances you can see that it’s losing fingers. Soon we’ll be safe as Earth’s corrosive atmosphere causes it to dissolve altogether!

Mark Trail, 7/30/07

“And by ‘come check on you,’ I mean ‘shoot you in the face with his enormous shotgun.’ Don’t worry, I’ll be right here, lurking safely in the bushes until you distract him with your screams of agony!” Christ, it’s no wonder that Sam is attempting to withdraw her head into her shirt, turtle-like.

Family Circus, 7/30/07

Man, that’s a great, subtle expression of brief hope flickering out on the face of Pipey McMustache there. It’s almost a little cruel to drag it out in a rerun to make him feel that disappointment again.

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Crankshaft, 7/19/07

I think someone has left an “h” out of a strategic word in that first panel.

For Better Or For Worse, 7/19/07

When I see lovingly rendered stink lines like the ones in panels three and four, it reminds me why I don’t look at the animated versions of these strips on the main FBOFW site.

Gil Thorp, 7/19/07

Ha ha! The Milford locker room smells absolutely disgusting! Oh, hilarity. It’s good to see that Coach Thorp and … uh … whoever the hell that is spend their potentially teenager-free summers ’roiding up and liftin’ weights down at the high school.

Funky Winkerbean, 7/19/07

Ha ha, Darrin and Jessica are in deep shit! Because they live in Funky Winkerbean, what should be a vaguely awkward but ultimately fondly remembered act of wholly consensual sex will in fact result in one or more of the following:

• Pregnancy (despite the fact that this has been the longest-drawn-out lead-up in teen sex history, probably still nobody will think to use any form of birth control because, you know, nobody gets to have any fun)
• Cancer (sexually transmitted, somehow)
• Pregnant cancer
• Cancerous pregnancy

Shoe, 7/19/07

Ha ha, the Perfesser’s life is shitty! I like the way he’s staring at the bottom of his glass as he contemplates the awful, wasted decades.

Family Circus, 7/19/07

Man, Dolly’s quite the little shit. Notice that Grandma isn’t even attempting to maintain a look of grandmotherly good humor. Someone’s going to get bashed on the head with a coffee cup, but fast!