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The Lockhorns, 8/15/06

Today’s Lockhorns is evidence of the feature’s unrelenting commitment to total authenticity. It’s not that one of them is right and the other cartoonishly wrong, you see; it’s that they are fundamentally incompatible, and yet married to one another. I’m not sure that this comic contains a joke per se; rather, Leroy and Loretta in a larger sense illustrate the basic reality that our lives and our interactions with others are fundamentally absurd. They seem preternaturally inured to the hollowness of it all, but it’s often a wonder to me how their marriage counselor keeps from slitting his wrists.

Herb and Jamaal, 8/15/06

Today’s Herb and Jamaal is like a magpie fascinated by a shiny object and unable to divert its attention from it. In this case, clearly the polysemous nature of the word “cell” — you see, it could refer to a cellular phone, or a prison cell! — provided an irony too delicious to pass up, no matter the fundamental problems of narrative that this gag presents. For instance, last I checked, you can’t actually call someone in his cell, because prisoners aren’t allowed to have personal phones. Of course, sometimes corrupt guards smuggle phones in to the inmates, but these are generally — you guessed it — cell phones. There’s a potential joke here about calling someone both in and on his cell, but clearly Herb and Jamaal doesn’t have the stomach for an exploration of the deficiencies of the American incarceration industry.

Anyway, despite the fact that the strip is totally unable to string 50 words in a row without creating a major plot hole, the whole thing is made worthwhile by Herb’s hilarious reaction shot in the final panel, right? Oh, wait a minute, no it isn’t.

Kudzu, 8/15/06

Don’t feel too bad, though, Herb and Jamaal: for all your failings today, at least you didn’t do a can’t-program-the-VCR joke.

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Funky Winkerbean, 8/10/06

• Arizona in very hot, especially in August.
• The first two syllables of “Arizona” sound like the word “arid,” which aptly describes the state’s climate.

The Lockhorns, 8/10/06

• It’s embarrassing when your wife catches you looking looking at Internet pornography.
• The Lockhorns’ marriage is a joyless hell.

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Mark Trail, 7/10/06

SAY, MARK! IT’S REALLY POLITE OF YOU AND RANGER RICK TO THINK OF US AND SHOUT YOUR DIALOGUE SO WE CAN HEAR IT! I’M ASSUMING THAT’S WHY YOU’RE YELLING WHILE YOU’RE TALKING, EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE ONLY INCHES AWAY FROM EACH OTHER UP IN THAT TREE! IT SORT OF MAKES ME FEEL UNGRATEFUL TO POINT OUT THAT THROUGH THE MAGIC OF CARTOONING, WE CAN “HEAR” YOU JUST FINE, EVEN THOUGH OUR PERSPECTIVE IS QUITE FAR AWAY FROM YOU! BUT REALLY, THANKS FOR BEING SO THOUGHTFUL!

OH, AND I THINK THE BEAR IS TRYING TO TELL YOU THAT HE’S GOING TO ENJOY KILLING AND EATING YOU WHEN YOU GET DOWN FROM THAT TREE, AS YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO DO EVENTUALLY! JUST A GUESS, THOUGH!

Those of you enraptured by Mark Trail’s giant talking animals (and who isn’t, really?) will enjoy this drinking game over at the Deadspin sports blog.

For Better Or For Worse, 7/10/06

I think I speak for everyone everywhere when I say that I hope this is (a) karmic retribution for the Pattersons Junior allowing their little squallers to run wild and disturb the peaceful Kelpforths in their quiet cigar-smoking repose and (b) the beginning of Mike’s slow descent into madness. I might point out that Deanna seems to have been able to sleep just fine through the tinkling and the tonkling, but not through her husband’s lunatic overreaction to it, yet miraculously she didn’t punch him in the throat or anything. I might also point out that Mrs. C. has problems of her own in regards to sleeping through fan noise (though for her it’s less TINKLE TONKLE TINKLE TONK and more CLICK CLICK WHIRRR); however, rather than wrapping the fan in scotch tape like some sort of crazy person, she just makes me turn it off.

The Lockhorns, 7/10/06

Sometimes the Lockorns is just so much about unadulterated mutual loathing that it takes my breath away. Look at the way they’re glaring at each other with undisguised contempt. Roast rage is on the menu every night at Casa Lockhorn, along with buttered bile and fried green hate.