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Dennis the Menace, 3/3/10

Yes, it’s always fun to find novel ways to mock Mr. Wilson’s weight, Dennis, but with gold currently trading at around $1,150 an ounce, in all likelihood you’d be worth a million bucks yourself! Your little friend there, who’s so badly emaciated and weak that you need to pull him around in a wagon, probably not so much.

If Dennis were to become some kind of gold bug, that would be a new and interesting dimension of menace. Instead of just cracking wise about his tubby neighbors, he could instead “accidentally” hit baseballs through the windows of members of the Federal Reserve Board of Governors, and monopolize classroom time with extended diatribes about the fraudulence of fiat money.

Apartment 3-G, 3/3/10

More evidence that Ari is the worst psychiatrist ever: his identifying some faint reflection of an external light source in Tommy’s dead, emotionless eyes as a “sparkle.” The most one could expect to see there would be a glimmer of relief — in this case, relief because the Professor’s brief, vague recap of his entirely self-inflicted problems has confirmed for Tommie that her policy of not making any sort of effort at personal fulfillment or happiness is for the best.

Lockhorns, 3/3/10

Speaking of dead, emotionless eyes, today’s installment of the Lockhorns is particularly harrowing. It is of course not surprising that one half of this doomed couple would resort to dark voodoo magic to inflict pain on the other; but you’d think that Loretta would at least be experiencing a bit of joy from the prospect of tormenting her husband with the help of poweful spirit beings, or that she’d show guilt or defiance at being discovered in the act. Perhaps she should be sticking a pin into a voodoo doll of herself, since that appears to be the only way she’d be able to feel anything.

Mark Trail, 3/3/10

“Outside the political arena, we are passionate lovers, as this bouquet of red roses indicates! Good day, gentlemen!”

Senator Wallace’s outfit is not dissimilar to that sported by known lothario Mr. Kessler, so this is as good a place as any to note that the fellow has his own Twitter feed now. More proof that Mr. Kessler doesn’t go for teenage girls; if he did, he’d have set up a MySpace account.

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Beetle Bailey, 3/1/10

I swear I’m not making an effort to find the secret dark heart of Beetle Bailey lately; but doesn’t it just seem like the strip has just been getting kind of grim? Today’s installment appears to have been first written as an almost unspeakably bleak scenario: Beetle being dragged off by scowling MPs for treason or some terrible breach of the military law, to Fort Leavenworth or Gitmo or just a summary execution by firing squad. He weakly proclaims that it was all a mistake, he didn’t do anything, but the fact that he’s, against the grain of his usual character, put on a vaguely presentable uniform indicates that he knew the gig was up and decided to go out with a modicum of dignity. Sarge, meanwhile, can only look on in heartbroken shock. “Beetle!” he cries. “What have you done?! For the love of God, what have you done?!”

Presumably the editor for this strip, after putting his or her head down on the desk and crying quietly for a bit, sent it back to Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Enterprises LLC with a scrawled note to “wacky it up a little bit, with, I dunno, some Keystone Cops or 19th century U.S. Cavalry officers or some shit like that.” Then back to the weeping.

Gil Thorp, 3/1/10

Dang, Gil Thorp, I know you’re written by jocks for jocks, but can you tone it down a little bit with the anti-nerd hate speech? You know, Coach Kaz, maybe Mr. Kessler doesn’t have the “jailbait problems” you’ve encountered because he’s an urbane, witty gentleman who exudes class and intelligence, and therefore doesn’t attract the high school girls the way your mullet does.

Mary Worth, 3/1/10

“…and he took the bottom two-thirds of my pants with him! My God, my pale, tender leg-flesh … gleaming in the bright light of day … DON’T LOOK! DON’T LOOK!”

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Archie, 2/27/10

I kind of love Jughead’s melodramatic hat-flipping drink-exploding spit-take of rage in panel three. It’s as if this final bit of Archie idiocy is just too much for him to handle. “Argh, I can’t believe I’ve been playing second banana to this moron for seventy years!”

Mary Worth, 2/27/10

If Mary Worth wants to dedicate a panel a day to Wilbur and Kurt’s ludicrous tomfoolery indefinitely, I for one would be OK with that. Today sets a hilariously low bar for the definition of “quality time.” “Hey Wilbur, hey Wilbur, check this out — I’m eating my own finger! Ha ha! No, don’t worry I’m not doing it really, but look, it looks like I am! Pretty funny, right?”

Spider-Man, 2/27/10

I’m sure these firefighters are just thrilled to have some out-of-town semi-employed “photojournalist,” armed with what appears to be a plastic Fisher-Price “My First Camera,” standing six inches behind them narrating every thought in his head aloud while they attempt to do their jobs. “Gosh, you guys, if we were in New York, Spider-Man could totally help me out right about now! But, uh, he doesn’t live here. Hey, is that someone burning to death upstairs? You guys? Anyone else hear that?”

Gil Thorp, 2/27/10

Aw, look how pleased Coach Kaz looks in the final panel — for once, someone is coming to him for advice! Sadly, it will just be another young man asking furtive questions about unbearable itching “down there,” proving once again why it’s a bad idea to overshare about your personal life when you’re substitute-teaching a high school health class.