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Prince Valiant, 3/28/10

A couple minor setbacks in the inky gloom is all it takes for Val to ditch Aleta and high-tail it back to the surface: “Hey, Arn, I tried, all right?” No matter, though — these guys who seemed so scary back in October come off up close like cranky grey Smurfs or tiny Burghers of Calais or something.

And while it’s sad to see Aleta’s slow-mo trail-marking striptease come to an end, under the circumstances a “loss of prudence” may be exactly what she needed.

Slylock Fox, (panel) 3/28/10

Sly, enraged that inamorata Cassandra Cat prefers his well-endowed rival Buford Bull, lashes out with yet another flimsy, jewelry-related pretext for jealous revenge. I ask: who’s the real heel here?

Only Max notices actual thief Reeky Rat, whose hiding place is becoming his tomb. “Squeak!” “Squeeeeeeeeak!”

Comics for Kids?—I think not!

The Lockhorns (panel), 3/28/10

Loretta corresponds online with Darkness Itself, who logs off in haste and horror.

Mary Worth (panel), 3/28/10

In an otherwise undistinguished recap of the week’s non-events, Mary vents her disgust and resentment at Bonnie and Fine Ernie Johnson, with their to-themselves-keeping, intrusion-resenting, arrogant lowness of key. Just who the hell do these people think they are?

Hey, yeah, still me. Heh, heh: y’know, Josh, amirite? Monday for sure, I’m told.

— Uncle Lumpy

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The Comics Curmudgeon Spring 2010 Fundraiser

Click above to contribute by credit card or PayPal, here to contribute by check, or here for more details — Thanks!

Breaking News Update — President Obama reads Pickles; nation mourns.

Political blog Wonkette, for which Josh writes reviews of editorial comics under the title Cartoon Violence, has published a photograph showing a Sunday comic on President Obama’s Oval Office desk. Which comic? Alas, it’s Pickles — which never appears here because it is beneath notice even in its lameness. Original comic here. We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

Faithful readers of the Comics Curmudgeon will have long ago figured out my schtick: scan for a theme that links two or three comics, riff on it with a few cross-references to established CC tropes, glissade to some bizarre plot turn in a soap or clumsy foulup in a joke-a-day strip, and so to bed.

Mostly the comics oblige, with a banquet of lunatic plotlines laid out like gleaming slabs of red meat, verbal and graphic faux pas arrayed around them like trays of toothsome hors d’oeuvres. But on nights when those tables are bare I am alone, straining through the muck beneath Quigmans or Cleats for some — any — undigested morsel, my anguished moans for this cup to pass met with stony silence, except for the ticking of the clock toward 1:46 AM and spatter of desperate tears on my keyboard.

It is in those dark hours that I turn to Crock.

Crock, 3/25/10

And what do I get? A technology joke rejected as too lame for Pluggers (“A plugger’s netbook is the Cabela’s catalog.”) or For Better or For Worse (“Is John gambling online in the den?” “Yes, he’s on the netbook … in his bet nook!” “Hahahaha!”). Marred further, if such a thing is even possible, by the redundant “three-day” in panel one.

Thanks, Crock.

Mark Trail, 3/25/10

Ah, Mark — never too busy for the Safety Lecture, are we? Y’know, if Gladys had her wits about her, she’d shoot Mark in panel three and claim he looked just like a purse-snatcher.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/25/10

June is intrigued: ineffective pleading by a nominal male; icy rejection by the bitch in charge — looks like love to her!

Dick Tracy, 3/25/10

After-hours Exposition Dump in Dick Tracy. Public service, really — saves decent citizens the trouble of paying attention.

The Lockhorns, 3/25/10

“Agree with him and I’ll put another dent in that head of yours, Pullman!”

A sincere thank you to everyone who has contributed to the Comics Curmudgeon already this week. If you’re not yet among them, please consider this: lots of factors go into choosing whether to blog or not, but for a freelance writer/editor like Josh the tradeoff between blogging time and income is inescapable. The more we can make the Comics Curmudgeon an economically rational choice, the more time and enthusiasm Josh can devote to our entertainment. And who doesn’t want that?

— Uncle Lumpy

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Dennis the Menace, 3/3/10

Yes, it’s always fun to find novel ways to mock Mr. Wilson’s weight, Dennis, but with gold currently trading at around $1,150 an ounce, in all likelihood you’d be worth a million bucks yourself! Your little friend there, who’s so badly emaciated and weak that you need to pull him around in a wagon, probably not so much.

If Dennis were to become some kind of gold bug, that would be a new and interesting dimension of menace. Instead of just cracking wise about his tubby neighbors, he could instead “accidentally” hit baseballs through the windows of members of the Federal Reserve Board of Governors, and monopolize classroom time with extended diatribes about the fraudulence of fiat money.

Apartment 3-G, 3/3/10

More evidence that Ari is the worst psychiatrist ever: his identifying some faint reflection of an external light source in Tommy’s dead, emotionless eyes as a “sparkle.” The most one could expect to see there would be a glimmer of relief — in this case, relief because the Professor’s brief, vague recap of his entirely self-inflicted problems has confirmed for Tommie that her policy of not making any sort of effort at personal fulfillment or happiness is for the best.

Lockhorns, 3/3/10

Speaking of dead, emotionless eyes, today’s installment of the Lockhorns is particularly harrowing. It is of course not surprising that one half of this doomed couple would resort to dark voodoo magic to inflict pain on the other; but you’d think that Loretta would at least be experiencing a bit of joy from the prospect of tormenting her husband with the help of poweful spirit beings, or that she’d show guilt or defiance at being discovered in the act. Perhaps she should be sticking a pin into a voodoo doll of herself, since that appears to be the only way she’d be able to feel anything.

Mark Trail, 3/3/10

“Outside the political arena, we are passionate lovers, as this bouquet of red roses indicates! Good day, gentlemen!”

Senator Wallace’s outfit is not dissimilar to that sported by known lothario Mr. Kessler, so this is as good a place as any to note that the fellow has his own Twitter feed now. More proof that Mr. Kessler doesn’t go for teenage girls; if he did, he’d have set up a MySpace account.