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Mary Worth, 6/17/10

The best thing about today’s Mary Worth is that the handsome young man in Mary’s thought balloon has an entirely different hair color than our Dr. Roberts. There are two hilarious possibilities as to why. Perhaps Mary’s mind is starting to go, and she can’t really remember what her acquaintances look like and just gets them mixed up with people she saw on TV. Or maybe the entire Dr. Roberts sequence was a narrative red herring, and she’s planning to match Jenna up with someone else entirely. “I think this sullen young woman and ol’ ‘Black Irish’ Donoghue might make an acceptable couple! Obviously I’ll be saving that yummy doctor for myself.”

The other best thing about today’s Mary Worth is how deeply upset Jenna looks by the turn this conversation has taken. “Wait, wait, is this old bag trying to set me up with somebody? Oh, hell no. I should know better than to make eye contact with anyone at any of these damn geezer parties.”

Marmaduke, 10/17/10

Ha ha, protest all you want, Phil, but Marmaduke demands your utmost obedience and worship, today and every day, lest you end up a meal, like the neighbors that you’ve carefully prepared and served up to him this afternoon. The infant’s femur bone decorating the lid of the serving tray is a particularly gruesome touch.

Mark Trail, 10/17/10

Sassy doesn’t look too concerned by these developments! Perhaps she’s eager for the sweet embrace of death, if the alternative is going back to live with Rusty.

Archie, 10/17/10

Wow, a tire being replaced by a skateboard! That would sure be mildly amusing to see! But you could just show us … Betty and Reggie talking about it … I guess … wait, did this Archie strip actually make me want to see a lame visual gag that I almost certainly would have sneered at, had it just been depicted in a straightforward fashion? Clever, very clever.

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Mary Worth, 6/14/10

Well, thank goodness: the new Mary Worth plot is being heralded by a Charterstone Pool Party, so the world does in fact still make some kind of sense. Kudos to Jenna for spicing things up by shouting potentially sensitive information across a courtyard full of her clients’ friends and neighbors. “I WANT TO THANK YOU FOR REFERRING THE JOHNSONS TO ME AS CLIENTS! BONNIE’S COMPULSIVE SPENDING ON HIDEOUS CLOTHES IN UNDER CONTROL FOR NOW, AND HER HUSBAND HAS GRUDGINGLY AGREED NOT TO LEAVE HER! I STILL DON’T THINK THEIR SEX LIFE HAS REALLY RECOVERED, THOUGH!”

Say, check out Wilbur in the background of panel two! Presumably he’s recovered from the pain of being abandoned by his lying not-son. No longer hiding in his apartment, shoving sandwich after sandwich into his mouth, he’s decided to come out into the daylight, mingle with his fellow condo dwellers, and chow down on a raw potato instead.

Funky Winkerbean, 6/14/10

You know, any comic can show you a character telling another an awkward, unfunny joke; in fact, one might argue that this is one of the things the American newspaper comics pages do best! But only high-quality strips like Funky Winkerbean have the craftsmanship to show you the uncomfortable aftermath of those failed zingers: the confusion, the sheepish smiles, the half-hearted apologies on both sides. Tomorrow’s strip should just be three panels of these two silently brooding over their continued failure to forge an interpersonal bond, despite their game efforts.

Mark Trail, 6/14/10

Panel three’s closeup reveals that “Sally” is clearly just character actor Ernest Borgnine in a not terribly convincing wig — which bodes ill for our mustachioed dog-hating villain. Don’t let Borgnine’s “lovable loser” persona from his Oscar-winning turn in Marty fool you; he’s a decorated World War II naval gunner, so that nosey neighbor and his politician friend may find themselves under attack by ship-based artillery in the near future.

Dick Tracy 6/14/10

Oh, right, Dick Tracy: it still exists, and is still insane, etc. One particularly odd and hitherto unexplained aspect of this storyline is that the play-gone-haywire at the heart of it is being staged at the Science Museum, which is not the sort of place one usually imagines as a theatrical venue. But now we’ve learned the narrative motivation behind this: with the action established at the Science Museum, we’ve been set up for a dramatic conclusion within a restored submarine! Because when you think “Science Museum,” you generally think “historic naval vessels.” Anyway, long story short, that submarine’s deck and walls are about to be decorated with blood, as Dick guns down his antagonist at point-blank range.

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Blondie, 6/9/10

Here is a 100 percent true story: When I was about 10 or so, my dad and I were driving through downtown Buffalo, and this car sort of cut us off, and my dad said, “Jeez, what’s up with this clown,” exactly the way you would in such a situation, and then I looked closer and saw that the car in question was being driven by an actual, literal clown, in full make-up and regalia and everything. His car was not unusually small, nor was he sharing it with dozens of other clowns. This was endlessly hilarious to me, and whenever I see clowns depicted in everyday life, I think of this incident, and it makes me laugh. Certainly it was much funnier than Blondie’s grim and off-putting attempt to wring surrealistic yuks out of a vicious clown assault.

Mark Trail, 6/9/10

You know who really, really likes working zoning disputes into his stories? Jack Elrod, author of Mark Trail! Now, it probably is true that land use regulations are a much more important part of rural life than we city slickers realize, but now all of the sudden a dramatic change in zoning laws is arising as a plot point in this unusually urban storyline. Thus, I must assume that Elrod is a member of the small, misunderstood community of zoning fetishists, or “zonies.” While he toils away on the outdoorsman strip he inherited from Ed Dodd, he’s always hoping that one day one of the alternative presses will pick up Fred Gorski, Zoning Board Co-Chair Of Destiny!, the erotic graphic novel he’s been tinkering with for years.

Apartment 3-G, 6/9/10

Uh, is it just me, or are those oven mitts really, really big? They look more like the freakishly oversized novelty hands you get at sporting events. Naturally, Tommie has cut off the protruding index finger, as neither she nor anyone else believes her to be “number one.”