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Gasoline Alley, 5/24/13

If I were a better person/student of the great history of the comics medium, I suppose I’d be more interested in the Slim and Walt go to the Comics Retirement Home storyline? As it is, I can only work up the energy to care about it when something truly unusual happens, like when a dapper, nightmarish pig-man wanders into the foreground of the panel, giving you a sly look that you’ll see every night for the next three to eight weeks as you desperately try to fall asleep.

Dennis the Menace, 5/24/13

“When I was a kid, we pretended we lived in violent, lawless frontier towns, where the only respite from attempting to murder each other over cattle or women came when we had to battle the last desperate remnants of the region’s indigenous population, who we were working to displace or exterminate. Now all kids care about is exploring fantastic new worlds and adding to our culture’s scientific knowledge and whatnot. It’s fucking bullshit.”

Six Chix, 5/24/13

It sure is ironic that looking to buy for something to rest on can itself be tiring, amiright? In related news, don’t ever lie down on sample beds in furniture stores, the people shopping for beds are drenched in sweat, gross gross gross

Herb and Jamaal, 5/24/13

“Uh-oh, I’d better make sure 9-1-1 is on speed dial, because it looks like Herb is finally going to put his money where his mouth is on that whole chainsaw murder spree thing he’s been talking about for months!”

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Spider-Man, 5/11/13

After the serial failures of his high-tech missile, “hypno”-gas, and “adamantium” chains, Kingpin resorts to old-school methods of persuasion like threatening to stone-cold bash a woman’s face in. Spider-Man is quick to comply — but then, “not moving a muscle” is pretty much his core competence.

Dick Tracy, 5/11/13

So it looks like Dr. Sail here is reconstructing the actual Moon Maid (who died in a 1978 car crash), not just creating an imposter from scratch? This opens up a chance to revisit the action-packed Moon Strips of the 1960’s and 1970’s (the so-called “Dick Tracy Has Gone Totally Nuts” era). Does it also signal complications for Moon Maid’s nominal widower Junior Tracy, who got re-married (to Sparkle Plenty) after his first wife’s death?

Ha! As recently as two years ago (the “Late Bonkers” era), Dick Tracy would have resolved such petty conflicts by having a beloved character burned, crushed, blown up, brain-wiped, dismembered, or (my favorite) eaten. But how will the new Team Tracy handle it?

Perhaps the answer lies with the Moon-obsessed siblings introduced here. Stellaluna, named for a cute bat from a kids’ book, is probably OK. But I would keep an eye on Retik, ominously named for Commander Cody’s nemesis (“Retik, the Moon Menace”) in the classic 1952 serial Radar Men from the Moon. Will this new Retik re-kill a reanimated Moon Maid, saving Junior Tracy from inconvenience? Stay tuned!

Hey, Retik: if you’re short on ideas, I’m pretty sure “suffocated in the vacuum of space” and “vaporized by a meteor” are still available. Just sayin’.

Gasoline Alley, 5/11/13

Hm, Gasoline Alley supercentenarian Walt Wallet is hanging out at the “Comics Retirement Home” with characters like these from discontinued old-timey strips, leading one to think he might, I dunno, retire or something? Except that we’ve already been down this road, in 2006, and it came to nothing.

C’mon guys, it’s time to pull the trigger — this routine will only get even more embarrassing if you have to do it again in another seven years, when Walt is 120.

Funky Winkerbean, 5/11/13

Aw, look at Darin’s adorable pissy face! Do you suppose he broke his jaw trying not to smirk?

Hey, I’m subbing while Josh takes a break through Sunday May 19 — reach me at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net if you have access or comment issues. Enjoy!

— Uncle Lumpy

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Panels from Momma and Crankshaft, 4/17/13

Occasionally here at the Comics Curmudgeon, we must remember that we exist to praise the comics as a visual medium, and so here we go: two comic panels that deftly convey what it’s like to be eating food and then you realize the food is terrible and you’re thinking about the social consequences of spitting the food out, maybe onto your plate or maybe just into your hand. Momma is having dinner at her son Thomas and his wife Tina’s house; one of the weird dynamics of the strip I’ve always queasily enjoyed is that Momma is terribly cruel to her daughter-in-law, and narratively it’s pretty clear that our sympathies are not supposed to be with her, and yet her number one complaint — that Tina’s cooking is awful — is also always presented as legitimate. Do you think that she deliberately feeds Momma disgusting food, as revenge, for everything? Meanwhile, in Crankshaft, the terrible food is coming from Lena, the bus drivers’ transportation manager, and her emotional relationship to the people who loathe her baking is an underdeveloped Crankshaft plot element. Still, does she lash out with crappy food because of the toxic psychic environment created by Crankshaft’s mere presence? Almost certainly.

Gasoline Alley, 4/17/13

If, like me, you suddenly realize you have no clear picture of how all the characters in Gasoline Alley’s aging, sprawling cast are related to each other, check out this sweet family tree, which has a 2004 copyright date and a 1995 web design aesthetic! Anyway, it turns out addled supercentenarian Walt Wallet is grandfather-in-law to Slim, against whom I’ve always harbored an unreasoning hatred (well, there are a few reasons). More to the point, despite his encroaching dementia and general good nature, he clearly holds the same low opinion of Slim that I do, which warms my shriveled black heart.

Slylock Fox, 4/17/13

Usually the Slylock Fox true/false trivia strips do a pretty good job of offering questions that could plausibly be either true or false. Still, today’s second question is just way, way too specific to be false, though that would be hilarious. “2) False. The Global Soap Project is an art collective that steals soap from hotels and uses it to create ephemeral bubble-sculptures that are displayed at invitation-only events at exclusive private art galleries in lower Manhattan. After everyone goes home, the remaining soap suds are flushed down the toilet. Suck it, soap-poor nations!”