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Sally Forth and Zits, 4/4/07

Man, I guess the liberal media really is determined to undermine the traditional American family. First, Disney insists on churning out movie after movie featuring single parents, and now Sally and Ted and Connie and Walt have dropped any pretense of wanting to spend time with their offspring. The Duncans have at least waited until their son was legal to work in some dead-end job before abandoning him to his fate; the Forths apparently don’t care whether Hilary forth ends up as a child prostitute or in some kind of Dickensian pickpocket ring, as long as they’re left alone to screw.

Gil Thorp, 4/4/07

Typically, Gil Thorp storylines come to a screeching halt as soon as each team is eliminated in the playdowns. (Can anyone remember the last time that any Mudlark team actually won a championship? That’s the sort of hard-hitting question Marty Moon would ask Coach Thorp if he weren’t so drunk.) After each season ends in shame and defeat, a new one begins, full of hope and new difficult-to-follow drama. That’s why I’m so pleased to see that the lady jocks of Milford are moving from basketball to softball and still buzzing over l’affaire autoclub, as the French punks in Judge Parker would say. I’m dying to know exactly what it is that Tyler is going to say to the softball team that’s going to get Brynna Antenna back into their good graces. I hope that he stands there in the outfield for a minute while they all stare at him, then clubs himself in the back of the head a few times and runs off.

On the self-clubbing tip (ew), why haven’t more of you entered the Self-Clubbing Tyler lookalike contest? I mean, how hard is it to look like this?

Well, actually, it’s really quite hard, but the lure of fortune and glory should overcome that. I’ve gotten a few entries so far — and to be frank they’re all quite strong — but nowhere near the numbers we saw for the Finger-Quotin’ Margo contest. So send in those pictures, damn it!

For Better Or For Worse, 4/4/07

I really have no desire whatsoever to wade into the twisted swamp of teenage gender politics here. Really. None. Whatsoever. But I did want to feature this strip because it contains my new hero. I speak, of course, of the dude at the far right in panel two, the one with the gap in his teeth and the eyes the size of dinner plates who’s saying “Hoooo!” I shall call him “Gap-Toothed Starey ‘Hoooo!’ Guy.” It’s clear that he needs to be brought front and center in this feature right away, and possibly given his own spinoff strip. What makes Gap-Toothed Starey “Hoooo!” Guy tick? What’s his home life like? What, other than risque gossip with his buds, makes him say “Hoooo!”? Will he be going to university? Now I can’t wait until next month’s letters are up on the Foob site on May 1; I’m really looking forward to his missive, which will be entitled “Hoooo!”

Archie, 4/4/07

Man, right up until that last panel, I was convince that the Archie-Joke-Generating-Laugh-Unit 3000 had discovered absurdist whimsy. Replace Archie and his dad with Griffy and Zippy and it would make a great deal of sense. Sadly, it all gets very bourgeois in the last panel.

Archie himself has never looked more like a baffled and angry lowland gorilla than he does in panel two.

Beetle Bailey, 4/4/07

Ignoring the ostensible joke of this strip (remarkably easy to do, since it doesn’t make a lick of sense), I have to say that there’s something unspeakably creepy about the way that all of the assembled soldiery at the ostensible celebration in the second panel is completely lacking in any indication of joy or excitement or any other normal human emotion. The affectless Beetle handing a balloon solemnly to General Halftrack is just the icing on the cake. If you told me that all of these people were about to unholster their sidearms, blast their commanding officer to bits as he stands on his makeshift podium, and then walk away in silence, I honestly wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

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Crankshaft, 3/26/07

Not only does this joke manage to somehow be both horrifyingly tasteless and completely incomprehensible; it also is the exact same joke that this trip used to similarly poor effect last June (and thanks to faithful reader Gg83 for pointing this out in the comments). At least that version was told by other characters.

Does Crankshaft own any garments other than that jacket? I don’t even want to imagine what it must smell like.

For Better Or For Worse, 3/26/07

The other day I was saying to myself, “Josh, you know what FBOFW really needs? A really sanctimonious teen sex storyline.” April has always been the odd Foob out; now she needs to decide if she’s stay pure, or give in to her sinful urges, forever shame the name of Patterson, and join Team Gig with Becky. I for one am looking forward to the horror.

Gil Thorp, 3/26/07

You know what’s even more thrilling and exciting than writing a nice, long paper about fairness and ethics? Looking at a crude drawing of two people writing nice, long papers about fairness and ethics.

You know what’s even more thrilling and exciting than looking at a crude drawing of two people writing nice, long papers about fairness and ethics? Looking at two crude drawing of two people writing nice, long papers about fairness and ethics.

Judge Parker, 3/26/07

Oh my God, Abbey’s maternal instincts about the need to accompany Neddy to Paris were right on the money: she’s been there for two days and she already thinks it’s fun being a whore. WATCH CLOSELY, APRIL PATTERSON: THIS IS YOUR FUTURE IF YOU GO PAST FIRST BASE BEFORE THE AGE OF THIRTY.

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Gil Thorp, 3/20/07

Some days, when I’m having a busy day, like I did today (I’m guest-blogging at Wonkette all week, by the way, and trying to get Mary Worth restored to the Washington Post in the process), I see dozens of comments come in about a particular strip before I see the strip itself. Sometimes all the build-up is more than a strip can bear, but panel two of today’s Gil Thorp was all I had been led to hope for and more. The sight of Tyler beating himself in the back of the head in some suburban alley — with the baffling motion lines turning the scene into an Escher-esque impossibility, and with the tiny moon floating behind him, making it look like he’s dislodged one of his own eyeballs — well, it’s pretty much the best thing I’ve seen today. I’d like to think that we’re seeing smack number four here.

Mary Worth, 3/20/07

Mary Worth was of course almost as entertaining, with her creepy finger-touching. It’s like she’s measuring Vera to make sure she’ll fit in the apartment. Or, actually, it’s like she’s Judy Davis in a straight-to-Showtime movie called “Suburban Madame,” and she’s checking out the new meat to arrive at her peaceful condo complex/brothel.

Apartment 3-G, 3/20/07

This is why Tommie and Margo need Lu Ann back so badly: it’s her well-meaning idiocy that holds the trio together. Never has the contrast between the two been so apparent as in the last panel: Margo, very, very high, vibrating like a tuning fork and popping out nonsensical questions because she can scarcely be bothered to focus enough to have an actual conversation, and Tommie, collapsing inward into her mopey core, looking like she’d be glad to slit her wrists if the prospect of failing even to do that right wasn’t so embarrassing.

Pluggers, 3/20/07

The plugger’s number two rule: Oh, just buy the semi-rotted fruit. You don’t deserve any better.