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Mary Worth, 8/14/09

OK, folks, as much as we keep making jokes about Lawrence’s extracurricular sex activities, I think we’re just sort of whistling in the dark to stave off our acknowledgement of the inevitable denouement of this tale: namely, that Delilah is going to drag Lawrence bodily into his hotel room, throw him down onto the overstarched sheets, and perpetrate scandalous acts of marital intimacy that she learned about from the backs of the DVD cases on Charley’s porn shelf, singing Rogers and Hammerstein all the while. “But Josh!” you’re probably saying, “this is the comics page, and Mary Worth to boot! Can they imply that a sex act might happen, even off-stage?” Well, if said characters are joined in holy and legal matrimony, I’m afraid so, if this steamy honeymoon scene from a few years ago is any indication, so we’re just going to have to brace ourselves for the red hot Lawrence-on-Delilah action. It’s fitting that Lawrence is checked into room 2012, the year of the Mayan apocalypse, as these unlikeable characters’ coupling will make us all long for the end times.

Gil Thorp, 8/14/09

As an already angry and hate-filled Marty DeJong peppers Ted Pearse’s team of hobo children with baseballs, the Scott McCloud lookalike urges him to “ease up.” Longtime Gil Thorp readers know that this seemingly innocent two-word combination is actually a trigger phrase, which will inevitably lead to someone getting punched in the tonsils. All I can say is that it’s about time.

Archie, 8/14/09

You know, Archie, maybe you ought to worry less about Dilton’s whimsical sports mix-ups and more about the fact that time and space are bending improbably all around you. Note that Moose’s torso is in front of the volleyball net, but his feet are behind the sand dune’s rise, and the net’s pole is well in front of it. This dimensional anomaly can’t be good for your health, and Archie is right in its path.

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Crankshaft, 8/10/09

You might think that after his near death experience, Crankshaft would be ready to show a little humility — you might think that, that is, unless you read the strip on a regular basis, in which case you would know that being a smug dick is one of the key defining aspects of the old man’s personality. Admittedly, he isn’t actually causing anyone physical or emotional pain for once, but still, his expression of epically smug self-satisfaction in panel three is wildly at variance with the quality of the — well, I don’t even know what to call it. It’s not a pun, you can’t in good conscience call it a joke, and if you referred to it as a play on words, then the thought of how joyless and grim your playtime must have been as a child chills me to the core. Anyway, the point is that Crankshaft is an unfunny jerk who I’d hope would be stung to death by bees enraged at being roped into this sordid scene, except they already tried that and it didn’t work.

Cathy, 8/10/09

While I’m not Catholic, I do believe that confession is good for the soul, which is why I always feel compelled to admit it here when Cathy elicits a genuine chuckle. In the case of this strip, I wasn’t amused by the bizarre denouement, in which it’s revealed that Irving has no idea what he looks like (presumably that’s because any mirror brought into their home is shattered in short order by an ACKing swimsuit-clad Cathy); but I did kind of find the panels in which he’s shouting abuse into a laptop screen kind of funny, as it’s simultaneously ludicrous and something I feel a certain amount of familiarity with (see angry diatribe about Crankshaft, above).

Gil Thorp, 8/10/09

“I mean, Marty’s arm is already shot, so I don’t see how hauling a bunch of wood around could hurt him any more. Hey, Marty, let me know if your shoulders get sore! I have some cortisone here that will make you feel better!”

Meanwhile, at Ted Pearse’s Li’l Hobo Sport Camp And Sammich Dispensary™, another promising youngster is showing that he too is ready for some cortisone injections, as he participates in the traditional pastime of underprivileged youth: throwing around a stale sourdough batard that they fished out of a dumpster. Winner gets to eat it!

Dick Tracy, 8/10/09

“Hey, everyone, it’s me! The lifeless, bleeding, twisted corpse over here? Anyone want to throw a blanket over me? You know, help me maintain some shred of dignity? Anyone? Little help?”

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Apartment 3-G, 8/5/09

Gabriella may be a crazed, superstitious ethnic stereotype, but she does exhibit a little bit of her daughter’s unsentimental steeliness when necessary. Specifically, she knows that there’s nothing that wimpy, ineffectual Tommie can do to help anybody, anywhere, at any time. “I know, I’ll have her call the other idiot roommate! That will keep the two of them busy for hours, as Tommie tries to explain that Eric is dead without using the word ‘dead.'”

Speaking of which, have you noticed that nobody is using the word “dead” when referring to Eric? Just “gone.” Maybe it’s because you can’t use the word “dead” on the comics page, or maybe it’s because Eric isn’t really dead at all, and years from now they’ll find his perfectly preserved body at the bottom of a ravine, kept in a state of suspended animation by the Himalayan snows. Like Wally in Funky Winkerbean, he’ll return to find Margo engaged to someone else, except that it will be more confusing because her new fiance will look exactly like Eric, and exactly like the other four fiances she’s had over the intervening years.

Gil Thorp, 8/5/09

Speaking of long-term soap plotting, kudos to Neil Rubin for following up on a story whose seeds were apparently planted seven years ago by previous Gil Thorp writer (and Left Behind series co-author) Jerry Jenkins. (Kudos also to faithful reader AirForbes for digging that factoid up). Back then, Marty told Milford’s trainer that Coach Thorp wanted him to get a cortisone shot — but we never actually saw Gil make this call, and now he’s denying everything.

Could this be related to the fact that today’s strip is a flashback to events that happened between panels one and two of yesterday’s strip, complete with a flashback-within-a-flashback? Is this going to set up a Rashomon-style story of conflicting narratives, except instead of being about rape and murder, the narratives will involve cortisone shots, and accusations of cortisone shots?

Mary Worth, 8/5/09

The quiet aftermath of a successful meddle. Mary sits alone in her apartment, eyes closed, transported to a state of pure bliss by the reinforcement of heteronormative monogamy. Meanwhile, a disconsolate Charley watches South Pacific on his magical floating television set while pounding back another glass of Milk of Magnesia. Will he even bother to take off his socks before he makes a desultory attempt at masturbation?

Spider-Man, 8/5/09

Many Spider-Man fans are no doubt unnerved by this strip’s wholly unexpected descent into actual superpowered adventure, so let me bring you back to your safe place by discussing something goofy and inconsequential: Wolverine’s beard. “What’s the deal with Wolverine’s beard?” many of you have asked throughout the duration of this storyline. “Why does he have blue dots on his chin?” As near as I can tell, the deal is this: Wolverine has resplendent, Martin Van Buren-style muttonchops; he also doesn’t shave very often (despite having razor-sharp claws that would no doubt do a fine job of it) and therefore has a great deal of stubble. Whoever is coloring this strip has decided to color his hair and muttonchops blue, which, fine, it’s far from the most insane possibility. But said colorist apparently also was unable to get his or her head around the idea of “muttonchops.” “What, a beard that grows only on the cheeks, but not upon the chin?” he or she muttered to him or herself, in his or her coloring sweatshop. “Outlandish and absurd! Impossible!” Thus, the colorist has stubbornly annexed Logan’s chin stubble to his beard, making the bristles the same blue color as his muttonchops, and, for reasons even I can’t explain, leaving the expanse of skin between the bristles pure white instead of a fleshy pink. The results are laughable, as you can see, but perhaps not as laughable as tough-guy Wolverine using “blasted” as if it were a swear word.

Mark Trail, 8/5/09

“Of course, Mr. Trail is cheerfully running around the forest right now with his dog trying to apprehend a dangerous armed criminal with only his fists and his inappropriate use of bold font. I’m beginning to think that maybe I shouldn’t put full credence in the deranged nonsense that comes out of his mouth!”