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Apartment 3-G, 11/27/07

I’d love to believe that the narration boxes in today’s Apartment 3-G are setting up some kind of tension between presentation and the underlying reality. I’d love to believe that Neil is practically wrenching Tommie’s arm out of its socket and coming close to hurling her on the floor, but in his self-centered way honestly believes that he’s executing a “graceful spin” and a “sweeping dip” — and that Tommie, despite her fears about a dislocated shoulder, is telling herself that she’s being spun gracefully and dipped sweepingly because she wants romance with Neil so badly. I want to believe all that because that would be kind of interesting. But I think this strip is just kind of poorly drawn.

Judge Parker, 11/27/07

I’m sorry, your majesty! Do you think that we down here at the county commission have nothing better to do than to show up at the front gate of all the massive compounds within earshot of every general aviation airstrip we approve? We’ve got Biff Dickens’ campaign donations to count, you know! Why can’t you read the 8-point-font ads in the Notices section of the newspaper to find out about the public meetings on the topic like everyone else?

Hmm … after having written that, I’m not entirely sure who exactly my vitriol is aimed at. I guess that’s because I kind of find everyone in this strip irritating.

Mark Trail, 11/27/07

Meanwhile, someone has framed Johnny Malotte — for murder! Bull Malone’s been shot — but by whom? Someone fired Johnny’s rifle — but who? Is Paul making up for his own perceived failings the only way he knows how? Has Bull faked his own death? Personally, I think the full moon behind Johnny offers a clue — he’s really a werewolf who shot Bull in an animalistic rage when he transformed, leaving him with no memory of the crime when he returned to human status! Sure, the theory needs work — probably a werewolf would have just ripped out Bull’s throat rather than fiddling with some firearm — but I mostly just want to see a Sunday strip about werewolves.

Family Circus, 11/27/07

Frosted flakes scattered across the tabletop, limp and soggy with Jeffy spittle, slowly hardening until they’ll be impossible to scrape off the formica = MOST DISGUSTING IMAGE I’VE HAD TO GRAPPLE WITH TODAY THANK YOU VERY MUCH, COMICS.

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Judge Parker, 11/26/07

All hopes that a Judge Parker comic might contain something interesting happening — like, say, a deranged Biff Dickens believing that he’s buzzing the trenches on the Western Front and strafing Sam and Abbey — will of course be dashed. What I’m kind of sad about is that Abbey has been too busy freaking out about her daughter’s burgeoning sexuality to notice that an airstrip was being built right next door to the farm where all her precious pretty ponies frolic. Just think of the exciting action that could have transpired if she had gone to the county meetings to try to block Biff’s permit! The whole thing would have ended up in court, of course, with Abbey represented by Sam, and the newly elected Judge Parker Jr. presiding and handing the case to his ex-partner and campaign manager with a wink. Sadly, whatever plot is actually going to arise is going to be even less interesting than that.

Spider-Man, 11/26/07

Far be it for me to suggest that Peter Parker use his mutant spider-strength (do they say that?) and other superpowers to go on a killing spree (great power, great responsibility, blah blah blah) … but say just for sake of argument that Spidey did take the Persuader apart like a cheap watch, which I assume means, I don’t know, that his outside would be cracked open and enough of his insides would fall out that he wouldn’t work anymore. Since the only person to see him open the proportional can of whoop-ass of a spider would now be dead and dismembered, wouldn’t Peter Parker’s secret identity still be safe? Unless, of course, this blatant act of Persuasion is not taking place in an empty alleyway as the first panel implies, but rather before a crowd of indifferent witnesses. “Say, Phyllis, look over there at that hulking ruffian attempting to stake a claim over that wimp’s wife by force. Darwin in action, ya know? Kid should try that Charles Atlas program!”

Slylock Fox, 11/26/07

Is Harry Ape the same guy as the maroon-suited gorilla-pimp we saw Slylock lasso a couple of weeks ago? If so, he’s fallen a long way, stealing a vanity (possibly the least butch piece of furniture possible) from Foo Foo Cat for his mommy. Actually, with the original owner having a name like “Foo Foo Cat,” purple is probably a much more macho color for the vanity than whatever it was before he painted it. I’m assuming that the squat, besotted thing clutching Harry’s gut is the aforementioned mommy, though I didn’t think that apes demonstrated such striking sexual dimorphism.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 11/26/07

You might recall from previous TDIET appearances that “Kimberly A. Coe” is faithful Comics Curmudgeon reader Trotzenbonnie. She shares with us the tale of her latest triumph:

I sent several ideas to Mr. Scaduto way back in February and he used two but rejected the third. I have a feeling that he just didn’t get it. Well, a few weeks ago I received a copy of the cartoon he worked up for the rejected idea with the attached note: “Hi, Kimberly — A situation similar to your cartoon idea happened to my wife and myself — Our grandson told us to be careful — wipe feet etc. entering his dorm … which was a close second to a hurricane-hit shack in appearance — Thank you for your idea — and Best Ever — Al Scaduto.”
Can you believe that? How the man managed to remember that I sent the idea to him months ago was marvel enough in itself. But he also gave me credit for the cartoon which was totally unnecessary since he decided to work it up based on his own experience. The man is a true prince among men — at least out of all of the men who draw cartoons for a living.

Not to ruin any surprises or anything, but I’ve gotten advance notice from enough readers to know that our dominance of TDIET is going to be particularly strong over the next couple of months. I consider the introduction and endearment this feature to my readers to frankly be one of my greatest achievements.

Blondie, 11/26/07

Dagwood is going to get his carpool high.

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Mary Worth, 11/20/07

Ah ha! Chester’s real owner! Here at last is the conflict, the drama that has eluded this storyline for so long! Mary will be confronted with some sad-eyed waif who’s so happy to be reunited with her very special Prince Snuffles or whatever the dog’s real name is. She’ll be all torn up inside about letting go of the dog she’s come to love in a short time. Will she be able to do it? Will she do the right thing and return the dog to his rightful owner? Or will she find some way to rationalize keeping the dog, leaving the child heartbroken? Action! Excitement!

Or, you know, it could play out like the damn condo rules feint. “I’d better find out if Chester has a real owner. Oh, he doesn’t! Hooray! I’m so great!” Damn you, Mary Worth, I don’t need another strip that sets up dilemmas only to summarily dispatch them with no effort on the part of the characters. I have Spider-Man for that.

You’ll note that Chester himself has given up on anything fun happening in this strip and has decided to just hump Mary’s leg until her shin goes numb.

Herb and Jamaal, 11/20/07

Ah, yes, “that sappy chick flick.” Thank God US law only allows one of those to be in theaters at any given time so that we don’t have to sully our lips with its name.

Judge Parker, 11/20/07

Things that might be going through Abbey’s shocked and horrified mind in panel three:

• “Oh my God, my husband kissed another woman!”
• “Oh my God, my husband kissed a woman!”
• “Oh my God, my husband broke several rules in the Bar Association’s ethics code!”
• “Oh my God, my husband thinks that ‘a big wet smacker on the lips’ is some kind of acceptable phrase to use in conversation!”

And here’s a couple of amusing standalone panels for today:

Panel from Gil Thorp, 11/20/07

We all know how pathetic and basically lonely Coach Thorp is, but today, with Gil giving a pep talk to the shrubbery outside his house, really brings it home.

Panel from Popeye, 11/20/07

There’s context for this, sort of, but I like it best in hilariously inappropriate isolation.