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Heathcliff, 11/5/12

So I’m still trying to get my bearings on Heathcliff? Heathcliff and Marmaduke have different syndicates, but they seem in some ways to be one-panel animal companions — indeed, both have Sunday features (“Kitty Korner” and “Dog Gone Funny,” respectively) where people can write in with very mildly amusing stories about their pets that never seem to involve urine or vomit, unlike most of the pet stories people tell me. Nevertheless, Heathcliff is not a Marmadukean soul-destroying hell-monster, but rather a mid-level thug who lives a self-satisfied and comfortable existence occasionally interrupted (but also at the same time sustained?) by dealing out violence to those who irritate him. Today, though, we see that he’s a lover as well as a fighter, and indeed his erotic life is much stranger than his sadly predictable acts of aggression. While our focus in this panel is rightly on the cat that’s tongue-kissing a kitchen appliance, we should also spare a thought for the human woman who regards this sordid little scene and reacts not with disgust or bafflement but instead with a sort of wistful jealousy.

Funky Winkerbean, 11/5/12

Oh no … the heavy-lidded grin … the admission that he’s had time to prepare a response on this topic … the opportunity to set the record straight on the importance of sequential art as a means of serious expression … WE ARE APPROACHING FUNKY WINKERBEAN SMUG LEVEL ALPHA, REPEAT, SMUG LEVEL ALPHA … TAKE SHELTER WHERE AVAILABLE … MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOULS

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Archie, 10/12/12

Let’s forget for the moment Reggie’s absurd claim that his laptop has petabytes of storage, and the fact that he and Jughead are having one of those hilarious “haha we are misunderstanding each other’s use of polysemous phrases, with hilarious results!” conversations that no humans ever have, ever, or even that Jughead might be vaguely implying that his beloved dog is a cyborg replicant. Let’s instead enjoy the glory and majesty of Reggie’s sweater, which is the ’90sest sweater that ever lit a candle at a spontaneous vigil that formed on the quad the night Kurt Cobain committed suicide and then later got a “Rachel” haircut. Admire it in all its Clinton-era glory!

Phantom, 10/12/12

Look, I’m the guy who will bawl uncontrollably in a movie whenever an adorable animal is killed or injured in the most transparently emotionally manipulative fashion you can name, but … hey Phantom, I know you’re hurting, but you’re being kind of a dick here? “HE WAS TRYING TO PROTECT BOTH OF US, OKAY? BUT MOSTLY ME, OKAY? BACK OFF, MAN, HE’S MY LOYAL WOLF-DOG!!!”

Funky Winkerbean, 10/12/12

“Yeah, my first wife sure scarred me emotionally and left me the morbid hate-sack I am today! How about your first wife? Oh, right, dropped dead. Hey, look, I have a whole pizza here, let’s punish our colons with it!”

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Spider-Man, 10/11/12

OH MY GOD YES YOU GUYS KRAVEN THE HUNTER!!! Kraven was the villain in the very first Spider-Man plot I covered in this blog. Back then I was charmed by his outfit but eventually enraged by the plotline’s stunning lack of superheroics, which caused me to vent thusly:

When I did my first Spider-Man comic, almost a month ago now, I said, “Presumably the ass-kicking will begin in due time.” Oh, how naive I was! How, bitterly, bitterly wrong I have been proved to be! In that time we’ve had marital spats, a little aimless Web slinging, a press conference to announce the opening of new theme restaurant, and the firing of an incompetent waiter.

Haha, little did I know at the time that this represented more or less the most excitement the Spider-Man strip would ever offer. Now that I’m more in tune with the true nature of this strip, I’m really looking forward to Kraven’s wacky, camptastic antics.

Funky Winkerbean and Crankshaft, 10/11/12

Never let it be said that the Funkyverse strips can’t cut loose and have some fun now and then! My only complaint about today’s Funky Winkerbean is that the colorists have once again failed to pick up on obvious textual cues, because I’d really like to see Les go chalk white in terror — proof that, despite the smug facade he presents as a defense against relentless tragedy, life still has the capacity to scare him to death. Crankshaft, meanwhile, is confronting the most depressing notion that modern science can muster — that the universe will end not with a bang or a cataclysm, but rather with a slow fading out to emptiness, with no life and no light. It’s almost a relief that Crankshaft greets this prospect with the exact same attitude of semi-informed grievance that he has about everything else.