Post Content

Gil Thorp, 2/10/09

Shocking developments in Gil Thorp! We’ve learned that Dylan was a teenage stick-up artist, and that Brenda is trying to have it both ways: she wants to imagine that he’s reformed (“But that was more than 30 months ago! Now you’re a slightly older teenager, and somewhat less immature! After what I presume to be some kind of punishment, surely you’ve completely changed!”) while he gives her the sort of half-assed tough-guyisms that keep the girls coming back. YOU KNEW HE HAD A SOUL PATCH WHEN YOU MET HIM, BRENDA! WHAT SORT OF MAN DID YOU EXPECT HIM TO BE?

Meanwhile, Bryce is making himself noticed in the locker room, if by “making himself noticed” you mean “rambling on egomaniacally while literally every other person in the room ostentatiously ignores him.” Frankly, more sarcastic narration boxes can only help this feature.

Gasoline Alley, 2/10/09

I’m not interested in rehashing the last God knows how many weeks of Gasoline Alley, which have mostly served as a primer for diner lingo; just take my word for it that, as a side benefit, they have also involved Slim’s humiliation and failure. Slim is the only Gasoline Alley character for whom I can work up any feelings whatsoever, and those feelings are equal parts distaste and disgust; still, I do have to respect the sadness of the second panel of today’s strip, in which the food-addicted man-child’s suddenly crumpled face reflects a moment of terrible self-knowledge. Because of said disgust and distaste, though, such moments are like catnip to me, and Slim reasserts his usual mode of being (belligerent ignorance) in panel three, reinforcing my prejudice against him.

Apartment 3-G, 2/10/09

You might think that Tommie and Gary’s incredibly awkward verbal sparring — it’s like Tracy and Hepburn, if both Tracy and Hepburn were half-thinking about something else, and neither was a native speaker of English — isn’t going to lead to romance, and you’d be right. Still, it appears that Gary has fulfilled his primary mission: to distract Tommie with his clumsy banter, and use her distraction as an opportunity to steal her tea. Presumably he’ll soon be on his way.

Mark Trail, 2/10/09

OH MY GOODNESS! BUCKY IS THE RISEN CHRIST-DEER! AND PATTY IS MARY MAGDALENE! AND … you know what, I think I’m going to stop riiiight about there.

Post Content

Gil Thorp, 2/3/09

Is today’s Gil Thorp the hottest Gil Thorp ever? Probably! It has a little something for everyone: panel three features Brenda and Dylan “connecting” with some sexy hetero making out (or maybe emergency mouth-to-mouth, or mutual cannibalism — it’s hard to tell), and panel two has two Lady Mudlarks I can’t identify (one of whom may also be Brenda, who knows) making sexy eye contact in preparation for the post-victory locker-room hookup. In panel one, meanwhile, Bryce Larkin works out obsessively at Jo’s Gym (motto: “We created our logo ourself rather than paying professional graphics designers; sure, it’s unspeakably shitty, but now we have more money to spend on free weights”) to get his body so taut and muscular that Gil won’t be able to reject his advances again, presaging hottness to come.

Momma, 2/3/09

Is today’s Momma the hottest Momma ever? Probably! Sure, the action is mostly incomprehensible — Is Francis supposed to be underage? Is the lovelorn cashier offering to cover up the fact he’s buying booze with his mother’s money? How is it possible that anyone is attracted to Francis? — but at least it’s a Momma that involves romantic attraction and yet doesn’t dwell on Momma’s demented, perverted suitors, her doomed attempts to protect Marylou’s virtue, or her unsettling Oedipal relationship with her sons, so let’s just count our blessings and move on.

Mark Trail, 2/3/09

“No, this situation doesn’t involve me! As a result, I’m just going to leave my weeping, terrified friend alone with her violent, angry husband! I’m sorry about this, Patty … I’ll send you copies of the nonspecified pictures, which a jealous person might assume would be sexy!”

Apartment 3-G, 2/3/09

“So you just allowed your husband to go out and follow his passions and convictions, rather than forcing him to spend all his time servicing you and earning money to buy you nice things? My head swivels in disapproval! That’s not how it’s going to be when I marry Eric — not if that combination tracking device/shock collar I just ordered from Amazon has anything to say about it.”

Post Content

Dick Tracy, 1/29/09

Dick Tracy is well known for such stunningly pointless narration box scene setting as “In another room” and “Elsewhere,” but I have to admit to being somewhat intrigued by “Much later”. By using qualitative, not quantitative, terms, the strip sets up an intriguing narrative tension about exactly when the third panel is supposed to be taking place. Are we meant to read it as “Much later, after Dick’s gruesome, nine-hour ‘enhanced’ interrogation of Professor Noll, at the end of which he described the secret project he was working on, confessed to a number of crimes he couldn’t have possibly committed, and then was shot ‘trying to escape’?” Or as “Much later, after the human race has evolved into a species with no pupils, shiny black skulls, truncated, pointy breasts, and a tendency to name people things like ‘Driller’?”

Gil Thorp, 1/29/09

Of course, Central has an incredible home-court advantage. Playing basketball on a court with four-foot ceilings does limit the number of home fans who can come and cheer, but for teams unused to such conditions, the stooped, simian lope that they make necessary can be a real distraction — one that the permanently hunched over Bobcats can exploit.

I’m not sure what the two clowns standing behind Marty are up to — trying to get their faces on the radio? That’s not how it works, guys — but I sincerely hope that the blond-haired glasses-wearing dude is making the universal jerk-off motion with his left hand, as he appears to be.

Blondie, 1/29/05

I strongly disapprove of the set-up for this joke. Dagwood can’t possibly be much older than, say, 50; obviously anyone born after 1960, when asked by a child if some common, century-old device were available during their childhood, would respond not with “Yes, and yet I’m also going to offer a description of an archaic technology that will make me seem even more wizened to you,” but with “JESUS CHRIST ELMO HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM,” followed by some serious soul-searching and a series of inappropriate and regrettable music and clothing purchases.

Mary Worth, 1/29/09

“Yes, before I came to visit you, I never imagined the hatred and despair that lurked just beneath the besequined surface of this beautiful sport! Now every time I see a coach talking to a skater on TV, all I’ll be able to think of will be the many ways that each has been able to wound and disappoint the other over the years. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my glass of blood as soon as possible and get the hell out of here before this little papered-over truce you’ve established inevitably collapses in tears and acrimony and slashing blades.”