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For Better Or For Worse, 3/17/07

Oh yeah, Gerald an’ April are gonna be at home all by themselves. And they’re going to “practicing.” And I think you and I both know what they’ll be practicing. That’s right: they’ll be practicing talking like actual fifteen-year-olds, rather than robots programmed by a sixty-year-old to say things like “make some green,” “the kiddies,” and, of course, “practice.”

Beetle Bailey, 3/17/07

For those of you who don’t know, a “magnum” is a one-and-a-half liter bottle of wine or champagne, which is twice the usual size. Thus, General Halftrack is merely proposing to drink himself into a stupor so as to at least briefly obliterate from his mind the hellish reality of the marriage he hates, and is not openly contemplating some kind of murder-suicide scenario. It’s still plenty grim, though perhaps not as off-putting as his flesh-colored mustache in panel two.

Curtis, 3/17/07

Clearly there’s some kind of off-panel donkey defecation going on in the first panel of today’s Curtis, but I have to admit that I’m disturbingly fixated on Curtis’ unfinished sentence. Why do you think they call it what? What? Is there some proverb or turn of phrase or bit of folk wisdom that involves donkey poop?

Judge Parker, 3/17/07

Wow, look at the expressions of utter panic on the faces Neddy and Abbey as they grapple with the concept of having missed their stop. If rich Americans, who are clearly the best and smartest people in the world, can’t handle the complexity of public transit, how in the world do the poor foreigners who ride it consistently make it home alive? Here’s a hint, kids: the train goes both ways along its whole route. You could just get off and get back on going back the other direction until you return to your stop, and not have to wander through whatever horrifying slumscape you’ve inevitably ended up in.

If you can’t tell, I’m growing more and more contemptuous of these two with each passing moment that they manage to further botch the relatively simple task of taking the train; thus, I am now openly rooting for the sinister punk rockers, and firmly believe that our pair of innocents abroad will deserve what they get. Fortunately, the evil punks probably don’t have anything sexually deviant planned for their victims, since, despite all evidence, they apparently believe that Neddy and Abbey are men. Yes, “Ils regardent la carte,” as Mohawk Punk puts it, means “They’re looking at the map,” but the “they” is masculine; the feminine would be “elles”. I don’t mean to imply that I’m some big expert Frenchie-talker — I was in charge of parlezing the vous when we were in a remarkably punk-rocker-free Paris a few years ago, and Mrs. C. will be happy to tell you how badly that went — but the ils/elles distinction is something you literally learn in the first week of French class.

Slylock Fox, 3/17/07

The most disturbing thing about this Slylock Fox? It’s not the fact that the cow has, in a burst of unnatural strength, managed to leap across a road; nor is it the cow’s unprovoked attack on the terrified rabbit, despite the fact that two species are not traditionally antagonistic towards each other. No, it’s the heavy-lidded, unfocused expression on the cow’s face, combined with the lolling tongue. That cow is high as a kite, and I don’t just mean literally.

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Mary Worth, 3/13/07

Following hot on the heels of yesterday’s tush-grope fest, we find that Vera has learned something very important about interacting with Ben: don’t let him sneak up behind you, and guard your genitals at all time.

There’s something about the “ha-ha.”, complete with period, in the second panel of this strip that just disturbs the hell out of me. We can see why Ben’s doing so well at Creepy Lack Of Affect Advertising Agency, what with his unlaugh barely hiding his stalking intentions. “Surely you aren’t trying to escape me … and my grabby hands … just because I have access to your HR records and your old address … ha-ha.”

Slylock Fox, 3/13/07

You know, if I wrote a comic aimed at young children populated by anthropomorphic animals, I might gloss over some of the more disturbing aspects of the great web of life on this planet, but hey, Slylock Fox, don’t let me stop you from traumatizing millions of bunny-loving kiddies everywhere. This feature has never shied away from depicting various terrified prey animals in their natural habitat, but there’s something about the civilized setting here that just makes this so much wronger. What I wonder is: who did that big, juicy steak on Leo’s plate just get sliced off of? And who did the slicing?

Judge Parker, 3/13/07

Wait, are you two ladies moaning about what a pain it’s going to be to inherit four enormous European mansions? That’s it, I hate you, I don’t care how sexy you are. I hope you get mugged by punk rockers! Which you almost certainly will, in six to eight months.

Gil Thorp, 3/13/07

One of the things I love best about Gil Thorp is that I read it every day and I still don’t know what the hell is going on half the time. For instance, did you know that Snoopy Reporter Girl is also on the basketball team? I sure didn’t? Also, do you know her name? I sure don’t!

My very favorite thing about this strip is clearly the disembodied set of alien tentacles that’s perched on Rick’s shoulder in the first panel; fortunately, Snoopy Reporter Girl is a good four feet away and can flee if it attacks her. Also awesome is Rick’s casual diagonal leaning pose in panel three. When Von Haney did it on the radio, it signified extreme smugness, but here I think it denotes an increasing weariness at these bush-league Woodward and Bernstein antics — weariness surely shared by everyone following along at home.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/13/07

With all the talk of failed drug tests, this is probably the first patented Rex Morgan, M.D., up-the-nostril shot that’s actually kind of relevant to the storyline.

Pluggers, 3/13/07

A plugger’s contempt for local restaurateurs is matched only by his hostility towards his own circulatory system.

Dennis the Menace, 3/13/07

Dennis’ menacing hits yet another new low as he fobs off the task of antagonizing his baby-sitter — previously a core menacing competency — onto some random person on the phone.

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Apartment 3-G, 3/4/07

The final panel of Sunday’s Apartment 3-G — in which Margo, unfamiliar with normal human methods of showing emotion, does her best to illustrate adoration with closed eyes and pouty lips, while Eric recoils in disgust — is pretty much the best thing ever. It’s enough to almost make me ignore Katy’s blatant bit of pantomimed drug innuendo in the fifth panel. We’ll soon find that Eric is only capable of showing real tenderness to his blood relatives; he only chose Margo as a sexual partner because of her steely invulnerability to typical weaknesses like “feelings”, and thus he’s about to drop her like a hot potato.

Dennis the Menace, 3/4/07

Dennis’ level of menacing has hit a new low. By right, Dennis ought to be causing nightmares with malice aforethought, not suffering from them. But the last panel offers a clue to the lack of Menace: Dennis has clearly undergone some traumatic, Clockwork Orange-style de-menacing process. (The strip title in the first panel indicates that the techniques may have been derived from the CIA’s LSD-based mind control experiments from the 1960s.) Dennis knows that some essential bit of his soul has been killed, and he begs his father to reverse the procedure, or, failing that, to crack his skull open and be done with it.

Judge Parker, 3/4/07

Ah, wealthy suburban Americans, your wealthy suburban Americanism is showing! “Oh dear, my teenage daughter has a bag with several books in it; she can’t possibly take public transportation! I’ll call the butler, post-haste! This trip is totally helping her learn about life on her own.” Of course, like most of the 3.6 million people who choose to ride the Paris Metro every day rather than call for their manservant to come with the Bentley, Neddy and Abbey will inevitably be assaulted by punk rockers.

Incidentally, Neddy, they have these things called “backpacks” now that allow you to carry books more comfortably than that … whatever it is you have slung over your shoulder. Backpacks are even for sale in backwards, retail-starved cities like Paris.

Panels from Shoe, 3/4/07

The throwaway panels in Sunday’s Shoe brought me up short. Is that the bird version of Andy Warhol the Perfesser is talking to? So, if Andy Warhol were still alive today, he’d be doing public service announcements about the importance of staying in school? And he’d be a bird?

Also, this panel from Sunday’s Mark Trail was a little marvel of cruelty:

“Hey, kids! Did you know that the beach is covered with corpses? Rotting corpses?”