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Slylock Fox, 11/20/06

There are some puzzling narrative decisions going on in this Slylock Fox. Apparently the artist has tired of actually drawing the mystery scenarios and has decided to settle for the thrilling visual spectacle of Slylock reading a word problem to a group of schoolchildren. Still, I’m so God-damned trained by this feature that I keep staring at the clock on the wall, thinking that the fact that it’s ten after nine is an important clue of some sort.

Perhaps once he’s assessed their fitness for detective work, he can explain how you can make a living from butting into other people’s disputes and solving them with elementary deduction. Max Mouse, meanwhile, is just courting death. It’s bad enough that Slylock brought the tiny rodent into a class full of predator animals, but Max’s inability to keep away from the teacher’s apple should by all rights get him devoured before recess.

Judge Parker, 11/20/06

As Raju heads off into the boat-wrestling sunset, I hope that we get lots and lots more Celeste Black to fill the void. I’m loving her swoopy arm gestures in the first panel here; presumably she’s performing an interpretive dance piece entitled “Jesus Christ I’m so hung over WHY ARE THE LIGHTS ON SO FUCKING BRIGHT IN HERE I hate you all”.

Archie, 11/20/06

Archie is, of course, a moron, but the setup for this joke was so convoluted that it’s hard to blame him for his poster verbiage faux pas. I’m more concerned about the fact that this placard was created in an art class, and yet is essentially just a bunch of words on a big piece of paper. The curved line at the bottom doesn’t make it “art,” and “Mr. Weatherbee” isn’t even centered properly. Pretty sloppy, Andrews.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/20/06

Sorry I couldn’t work up the energy to cover last week’s Rex Morgan, during most of which June was holding our mop-haired purse-snatcher at broompoint. If you only follow this strip through my commentary on it, you should know that we learned a few things last week about our cast of characters. We found out that Nikki and his trashy mom are Katrina-driven evacuees from New Orleans, forced to live in the slums of Rex Morganville because George Bush doesn’t care about white people. We also learned that if you take June’s purse she will never let you forget about it.

There’s some problematic punctuation going on in our omniscient narrative box at the upper left. No sentence in which the main verb is modified by the word “reluctantly” should ever end in an exclamation mark.

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Judge Parker, 11/12/06

Oh man, Sunday’s pre-“Meanwhile” Judge Parker packs in as much queasy adolescent sexuality as a John Irving novel. The image of Ned sticking out her ass for her mother, and asking “You don’t think it’s too revealing … too sexy?” is somewhat alluring, but mostly horrifying. Abbey’s blatant look of mingled horror and arousal in panel five adds to the squirm. She probably would like to complain about her daughter’s trampy outfit, but realizes that she doesn’t really have the moral authority to do so since you can totally see her buttcrack in panel three.

By the way, Neddy, French women dress in sexy and stylish clothes, not like … that. Prepare to be mocked.

(Incidentally, Abbey isn’t Ned’s bio-mom … and I’m pretty certain Ned was adopted as a teenager. I’m not sure if that makes the underlying tension here better or not.)

Post-“Meanwhile,” the phrase “Nice work, Celeste … you smell like a still!” may be the best marital put-down this side of the Lockhorns. Still, it’s nice that Reggie gave her a full two hours get her drunken mess of a life together enough to get to the press conference.

Beetle Bailey, 11/12/06

There’s a lot to hate about today’s Beetle Bailey. It follows the weird stumbly, improvised, cumulative-joke rhythm that’s been somewhat typical of the Sunday strips of late. I also wonder what happened to Beetle’s perfectly presentable t-shirt-and-shorts combo while he was in the truck, or why Miss Buxley is the only person Beetle can think of to call in his predicament, or how Miss Buxley could possibly be so femme that she doesn’t own any clothing item that isn’t a dress, or any shoes that aren’t high heels. However, I’d like to reserve the brunt of my ire for the phrase “But it sure left its output,” which has never been and will never be uttered by any speaker of idiomatic English ever.

Mary Worth, 11/12/06

As Mary walks towards her date with destiny, it’s amazing just how rattled she is. First off, in the first panel she appears to actually be practicing her first greeting to her new archrival. In panel three, she looks like she’s sneaking down the hall way, ready to leap around the corner and bash in roller-suitcase-woman’s skull with her pan. But mostly I’m charmed by the look of grim determination on her face, which gives way to an utterly insincere smile in the final panel. Next week is going to be great.

Family Circus, 11/12/06

The lesson: You can’t have nice things when your kids are morons.

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Mary Worth, 11/1/06

I’m sorry, it’s going to take more than Tommy waving around the world’s smallest bible to convince me that he’s decided to give up the exciting, glamorous world of methamphetamine addiction. I’d be a little more credulous if he weren’t holding the Good Book in his fingertips at arm’s length. He’s clearly using it as a prop to get dear old Mom to open her home to him once again upon his release, and is concerned that Jesus will see into his black heart and His written Word will burn the skin right off of his evil, evil hands. Since most bibles tend to be referred to as “holy” on their front cover (good marketing, that), I’m guessing this is a crude, handmade pamphlet that’s actually full of bootleg pornography.

The fact that Tommy’s eyes are the size of dinner plates makes it all the harder for me to believe that Christ is his anti-drug.

Some commentors have been remarking snarkily on Tommy’s hairstyle and what it might say about his position in the prison social hierarchy. I’d just like to point out to you newbies that Tommy has always rocked the scrunchie hardcore.

Bonus question: What the hell does that sign that’s partially blocked by Iris’ head in panel two say? “Cur”? “Fur”?

For Better Or For Worse, 11/1/06

I’m assuming that what’s happened here is that Shannon has proved that she’s plenty smart enough to disconnect the soundsystem, and that we’re going to learn some valuable lessons about how you should be nice to those less fortunate than you, and that industrial sabotage is totally OK if your bosses are jerks. But I’d like to believe that what the Lead Rectangular String Instrument player means is not that the power is out on their amps, but that due to Rebecca’s total bitchiness, they’ve, like, magically lost their sound, man, their groove, their mojo, that special something that’s made them Canada’s favorite teenage pop act. Then Rebecca will have to go on a magical journey to get her sound back, where she’ll find out the true meaning of music and friendship.

Check out the huge pile of bottled water cases in panel two. Makes you wonder what else is in Becky’s rider in terms of backstage goodies. (Insert your own “rider” joke here.)

Judge Parker, 11/1/06

You know, Judge Parker, I love homoerotic subtexts in serial comics more than just about anything, but I also like those subtexts to be at least thinly veiled. This isn’t even sporting for me.