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Dick Tracy, 1/6/07

Now, the number of you who have followed the current storyline in Dick Tracy in as much detail as I have can probably be counted on one hand. This is because this storyline, like Dick Tracy in general, is kind of bad. But I have to admit that I found this strip, in which things are brought more or less to a triumphant conclusion, to have a kind of quiet charm. From Dick’s dialogue which, while not quite poetic, at least has a certain pleasing alliterative rhythm to it (“made our minds his prisoners”, “now we’ve neutered his neurons”) to the sad, defeated look on Dr. Froid’s face, to the tiny little QWINK his sinister device makes as it’s powered down for good, the whole thing has a certain dignity that pretty much everything that’s happened up to this point has lacked.

For Better Or For Worse, 1/6/07

Speaking of lacking in dignity, I haven’t commented on FBOFW this week, mostly because I’ve grown so disgruntled with the plot direction that I don’t even know how to feel about Elizabeth’s inevitable discovery of Paul’s philandering. On the one hand, it provides an easy way for Elizabeth to be driven into the dull, reassuring arms of The Mustache, without any even slight lowering of her status as the strip’s incomprehensibly elevated Noble Goddess. On the other hand, a Patterson will experience emotional pain and anguish. So there’s that.

One thing I know exactly how to feel about is the strip’s patented and increasingly phoned-in punny punchlines: Bad. Bad is how I feel about them. “I’m going to say my boyfriend’s last name for no reason other than to supply a pun for my little sister’s ensuing thought balloon!” Bad.

Judge Parker, 1/6/07

Many faithful readers with a better grasp of geography and typical travel schedules than Judge Parker have pointed out that transatlantic flights simply do not land in Europe at 1:30 in the morning, ever. Still, based on her creepy white eyes in panel three, it’s no mystery why Neddy wants to go to the Champs-Elysées before sunup: to feast on the blood of the living.

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Archie, 1/5/07

More proof that Archie’s text is created by a joke-generating computer: In what context would any actual biological life form use the phrase “Why aren’t you out there hustling?” The only one I can imagine would be in some ’80s teen comedy in which, due to a hilarious series of misunderstandings, a snooty, stuck-up rich guy who’s never worked a day in his life has to coach a band of misfits to the state basketball championship. Oh, sure, at first they make fun of his patrician patois and attempts to talk “street” — “Fellows, why aren’t you out there hustling?”, “I say, that slam dunk was really quite smashing!” — but then they’d explain to him that in certain semantic contexts “bad” can mean “good” and soon enough they’d come together as a team, win the inevitable slobs vs. snobs title game (against the coach’s alma mater, natch), and learn the true meaning of friendship.

An alternative interpretation: The “coach” is actually Archie and gang’s pimp, and he wants to know why they aren’t out there “hustling” and making him some money. The less said about that scenario, the better, but it’s worth noting that such activity could indeed scuff up Svenson’s floor.

And speaking of the wacky Scandinavian janitor: usually overalls are not the garment of choice for those who want to showcase their trim physique, but Svenson’s are awful tight in the rear end. OK, I’ll stop.

Gil Thorp, 1/5/07

You know, despite all the internal dissension that’s clearly troubling this year’s Milford girls basketball team, I think it’s a safe bet that, like the great strife-torn Oakland A’s teams in the ’70s, the Lady Mudlarks are going to do just fine in the standings. Any team that has a player for whom an over-the-shoulder, no-look fling at a basket more than thirty feet away is an “easy two” should take care of the competition without too much fuss.

People criticize the Gil Thorp art, but I’m kind of in love with the strip’s crowd scenes. I like the expression on the faces of Bald Trench Coat And Black Turtleneck Guy and Person Of Indeterminate Gender Wearing A Fur-Trimmed Jacket And Hat Even Though He Or She Is Inside. “Hey, Overbearing Basketball Mom, we’re trying to enjoy the game here, so shut up! Also, if you’re trying to amplify and/or direct your voice, putting your thumbs behind your ears is probably not the best technique.”

Judge Parker, 1/5/07

Oh man, I refuse to believe that the Judge Parker gay-baiting election storyline, which only got started in late August, can possibly be over already. I mean, this is Judge Parker: five months of real time is equivalent to, what, twenty minutes? I’m assuming that by “best friend” Sam means Reggie’s doughy lawyer Roy, who, if there’s any justice in this world, we’ll get to see on the business end of a Celeste-wielded microphone when the beans are inevitably spilled.

Perhaps it’s Roy who’s been leaking Reggie’s campaign materials to faithful reader Wille Thompson. Here’s a flyer that sadly will now never be used:

Mary Worth, 1/5/07

Any Jungian will tell you that dreams are not meant to be taken literally: they instead offer guidance through metaphors. Thus, we should not interpret Mary’s vision to mean that Dr. Jeff is drowning in some malarial Southeast Asian swamp; instead, we should understand that the true barrier to deeper intimacy in their relationship is the good doctor’s terrible incontinence.

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Sure, Reggie Black’s wife went ballistic on the media last month, and now Judge Parker has moved on plotwise to Neddy’s sadly mom-chaperoned trip to Paris. But the electorate’s memory is notoriously short, and what with the pace of JP’s plot advancement, there’s no doubt a looooong time until the election, so I’m pretty sure Reggie can get back in this thing, provided he sticks with his core message: namely, that Randy Parker is probably a big gay. Faithful reader Wille Thompson took it upon himself to come with Reggie’s next attack ad. Bask in the glory of Wille’s cartoonish Karl Rovery!

In other JP news, you might remember my my vague rumor-mongering about the guest artisting going on in that strip this month. The Daily Cartoonist has a much more detailed explanation of the drama behind the scenes at that strip, which, to make a long story short, has a happy ending in sight, but you should check out the link for the full tale. (Thanks to a commentor for this link — I can’t find the comment that contained it, though, but if you speak up I’ll give you credit! UPDATE: The link was provided by faithful reader blase, who cleverly called the real artist “Eduardo the Unfortunate Uruguayan.” Also, a couple typos in the above graphic have been fixed.)