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Crankshaft, 4/8/07

A while back, I suggested that the name of this strip be changed from Crankshaft to the somewhat wordier but more accurate Jesus Christ, Ed Crankshaft Is Such An Asshole. I now think it should be stretched out to Jesus Christ, Ed Crankshaft And All The Other People In This Strip, Who Are Associated With Him In Some Way That I’m Not Clear On Despite The Fact That I’ve Read It Daily For Years, Are All A Bunch Of Assholes. I know your mom is a difficult and crotchety old lady, but dude. I hope you didn’t tell this heartwarming little anecdote to her aide right in front of her.

Hi and Lois, 4/8/07

Meanwhile, it appears that Hi and Lois’ pastor is a dirty rotten filthy hippie. Liberals!

Mary Worth, 4/8/07

I keep hoping — and keep being dissapointed, but hope does spring eternal — that each new character that comes into this strip will finally be the one that allows the Charterstone Mafia to see themselves and evil, petty, self-absorbed individuals that they are. Sadly, we all know that Vera will submit to the will of Mary and allow herself to be meddled into self-actualization by Mary and her minions, but I’d like to believe that the sneering young man in the final panel is meant to represent us, the readers. “Wait … you don’t know? Just look at the three of you lined up there. Why wouldn’t she run?”

And a couple of one-off panels:

Panel from The Phantom, 4/8/07

Most of this week’s Sunday Phantom just treaded water after last week’s, with this well-dressed trio being hassled by the Presidential Security Dragoons, but it was all worth it to see this awesome final panel, in which one of those ubiquitous executive rolling suitcase turns out to be filled with SCARY BONES AND STUFF. One might wonder how exactly this made it through the x-ray machines that are compulsory at airports everywhere now (yes, even in Africa), though if the NEXT box is any indication, perhaps they just laughed it off by telling airport security, “Oh, it’s okay — I’m in the death trade.”

Panel from Cathy, 3/8/07

Dot-ack? Dot-ack? All right, I admit it: this is a Cathy in-joke, and I found it funny. I would be willing to petition ICANN to create a .ack top-level Internet domain, which would be dedicated to Cathy-related content.

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For Better Or For Worse, 2/7/07

Who among us — particularly, who among those of us who have had the misfortune to read his loathsome monthly letters — hasn’t wanted to say “*#@[star][Saturn]!!” to Michael Patterson? At last Grandpa Jim, who certainly didn’t leave his farm to stoically fight the Nazis just so his whiny ingrate of grandson could make mad bank with a book about an innocent Irish girl and the stoic Canadian who left his farm to fight the Nazis who abused her, says what everyone else is feeling. My only concern is that the final thought balloon undermines the joy at seeing the eldest Patterspawn obscenely insulted, that maybe Jim thought he was saying “Good for you, m’boy! I always knew you’d make it!” instead of “*#@[star][Saturn]!!”. However, I choose to believe that he’s wondering about the construction of the book because he’s hoping, once next fall comes around and his strength has returned, that he can beat Michael to death with it. *#@[star][Saturn]!! you, Michael.

Hi and Lois, 2/7/07

“Because once the two of them die of pneumonia, I’m another step closer to 100 percent of the inheritance. Then all I have to do is rig Chip’s guitar to electrocute him, and … MOO HA HA!”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 2/7/07

Rex Morgan, M.D., is trying to worm its way back into my affections with the whole “June throws herself at a thirteen-year-old boy” gambit again; I have to admit that it’s kind of working. I’m interested to see what strategy she uses to distract Niki from his simmering class resentment. “No, it’s not really so big … uh-oh, I just splashed water all over my white t-shirt!” You don’t want to know what the carrot is for.

Mark Trail, 2/7/07

Wait, Mark Trail was in the army? Maybe his obsessive love of nature is some kind of attempt to make up for the massive Agent Orange deforestation program he ran back in ‘Nam. He does seem to have received extensive training in righteous-fist-to-face combat.

I am a little unnerved by Mark’s shit-eating grin in panel two. It’s too easy to assume that Mark and Dan were all not asking and not telling when they were in the service, and anyway, it’s well known that Mark finds sex with anyone to be abhorrent. I’m guessing Dan was Mark’s connection to sweet, sweet heroin. The reason Mark so angrily beats up drug dealers on his turf nowadays is that none of them offer product as satisfying as the horse he got back when he was in the army, and Mark demands high-quality goods, dammit.

Pluggers, 2/7/07

When it comes to food science, gerontology, and/or chemistry, pluggers are terribly misinformed.

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Beetle Bailey, 1/17/07

Wow, so I bet you never thought that the latest chapter of Beetle Bailey’s ongoing storyline about Beetle’s failure to bust a move on Miss Buxley would take a turn for the regulations-breaking same-sex affectionate. Anyone who reads this strip regularly has seen this coming for years, of course; I’m more surprised that Miss Buxley, who works on a military base and spends most of her time with earthy military types, is so shocked by cussing that she opens her eyes wide enough for us to see the irises for the first time, like, ever.

Garfield, 1/17/07

Now, look here: one of the defining features — some might say the defining feature — of Garfield is his compulsive eating problem; longtime Garfield readers know that if the fat cat ever did get his paws on a couple of chocolate chip cookies, his primary mission would be to cram them down his gullet with a minimum of chewing, not to festoon some whimsical snow sculpture with them. Well, if they had to violate a fundamental, long-established character trait, at least they did it in the service of a really great joke … oh, wait.

Dick Tracy, 1/17/07

A lot of you have marveled at Detective Tracy’s ability to get a hold of all of the United States’ intelligence agencies at once on his cell phone; I’m more concerned about his obvious joy in giving some terrifying Big Brother-esque mind-reading (and mind-erasing) device to every spook in town. Look for a wave of laws out of Congress setting mandatory sentences for thoughtcrimes. Thankfully, I have my tinfoil hat to protect me.

Hi and Lois, 1/17/07

Good God, but panel two is disturbing. I guess the cane is supposed to indicate that this freakish, gigantic baby-headed thing is an old lady rather than some kind of circus sideshow attraction, but it doesn’t really help.

Incidentally, I too would be upset if a sunbeam urinated on my carpet. And in panel one, it looks like Trixie’s doing some open-mouthed thought-ballooning. It’s almost as bad as a cat trying amplify the volume of its thoughts.