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Dennis the Menace, 5/20/11

Ha ha, Dennis knows the score! “Mom, this $2 patty of Grade F meat smeared with American cheese and non-fancy ketchup certainly isn’t anything that would be improved if I savored it. You’re supposed to wolf it down as fast as you can so the fat triggers all the pleasure centers in your brain extra hard! That’s what it’s for!”

Apartment 3-G, 5/20/11

I honestly have no idea what eerie bouquet-holding superstition Paul’s mom might be referring to, but that makes me as dumb as Lu Ann, so I’m going to not think about it and instead admit that I’m also not sure why exactly Paul’s mom is so keen to take pictures of our happy couple. I guess it could be because they’re supposed to be all dressed up for the wedding, but Paul is wearing a suit and tie, just like all men in the A3Giverse do constantly, and Lu Ann’s hideous bridesmaid’s dress in completely invisible under her all-encompassing coat. (That coat, by the way, is an instance of this strip accidentally depicting a garment that a young person in New York in 2011 might actually wear, although Lu Ann doesn’t seem like the spend-too-much-at-a-vintage-clothing-store-in-Park-Slope type.)

Gasoline Alley, 5/20/11

Five years ago, Slim tried and failed to feed his grandson to the bears. He’s not going to let another opportunity slip through his fingers!

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Dennis the Menace, 4/24/11

Let’s start Easter with a little bit of theology! In the throwaway panels, Dennis appears to flirt with a rejection of the idea that a human institution is necessary to mediate between humanity and God. Nevertheless, upon actually going to church, he proceeds to taunt Mr. Wilson over the latter’s spotty attendance over the year. Mr. Wilson fumes nastily over the wrath that Dennis will encounter on the Day of Judgment. The conundrum thus proposed seems to be: Whom would God favor? One who, like Dennis, offers worship to the Lord in the approved fashion, only to go home and wreak all kinds of devilish mischief; or one who perhaps does not take communion that often, but who at least upholds the divine commandments, if only because of his sullen refusal to leave his house or do much of anything else? Mr. Wilson can take comfort in I Samuel 15:22: “And Samuel said, Hath the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.” Since the obedience under discussion here was a divine order to exterminate the tribe of the Amalkites, this should dovetail nicely with that killing spree one assumes the tightly wound Mr. Wilson has planned.

Gasoline Alley, 4/24/11

Speaking of theology, our minister here should perhaps spend more time working on his metaphors, as I don’t think it’s really a good idea to compare God to the collapsing airline industry, which has cut back on the little perks of flying, charging nickel-and-dime fees while cramming ever more passengers into aging aircraft; the monopolistic utility corporations, which belch pollution into the air while jacking up electricity rates; or to prescription medication, often rushed to market by profit-driven megacorporations with deadly results. I guess people like greeting cards and scotch tape alright, though, right? I mean, not enough to worship them or anything, but still.

Dick Tracy, 4/24/11

If you were somehow worried that the new author-artist team behind Dick Tracy would downgrade our daily dose of violence of horror, I think you can rest easy now. Baddies vaporizing cops while declaring that they love “roast pig” isn’t even the most unsettling thing on display today; that honor of course goes to the terrified medical personnel fleeing whatever nightmarish creature longtime Dick Tracy fixture B.O. Plenty (reading Spittoon Quarterly, God bless him) has sired on his poor wife.

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Gasoline Alley, 4/12/11

Let me tell you a little story that has something to do with the genesis of this blog. In 2002, I moved to Baltimore and, as was the style at the time, got a print subscription to the local paper. The early ’00s Baltimore Sun had four glorious pages of comics every day, including relics that I had heard about but never seen — Mark Trail, Rex Morgan, Apartment 3-G, and, of course, Mary Worth. The last strip was in the midst of a plotline involving a cantankerous old cuss named Smitty Smedlap, and I came in the middle of a dinner he was having with Mary (and maybe Dr. Jeff too? can’t remember now) at the Bum Boat — a dinner that lasted weeks, and that seemed to me to be extremely awkward, and yet day after day it continued, with no reaction from the other characters indicating whether that was the intended reading. By the end of the dinner, I was hooked, and there’s pretty much a straight line from that joyful discovery to these words you’re reading today on the Internet.

I bring this up only because this awkward dinner in Gasoline Alley seems to me a a pale shadow of the depth of awkwardness that Mary Worth is capable of. Still, you have to kind of respect the strip for its current metahumorous gambit, in which we have a character whose sole identifying characteristic is that he tells bad jokes, and yet each day his unfunny gags are presented as the strip’s punchlines. Still, a little of this goes a long way, and it’s already gone quite far enough.

Luann, 4/12/11

Like all artistic geniuses do eventually, Gunther has left behind conventional notions of what his chosen medium should do and has gone full-on into his experimental phase, just in time for Luann to be the most avant-garde contestant in Tiffany’s sham beauty contest. I like the fact that Luann begins the strip screaming in horror/aesthetic confusion, but by the time her parents arrive on the scene has settled into a state of droopy-eyed ennui. For is there anything more truly banal than a new artist’s first heavy-handed attempt to shock bourgeois sensibilities?

Crock, 4/12/11

I don’t think I’ve ever met this bugilist before, but since he’s a character in Crock I assume he has an entire backstory established over the course of the strip’s 109-year run, which is now mostly forgotten by everybody but can still be glimpsed in some of his characteristics. For instance, that round red blob on his head: is it supposed to be a beret (indicating that he’s a jazz-trumpeting hepcat) or a turban (indicating that he’s a cobra-charming fakir)? Fortunately, this is Crock, so we can move on with our lives safe in the knowledge that this character will not reappear for decades and we’ll never really have to worry about it again.