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Apartment 3-G, 12/2/07

“I worked on my paintings there! And that’s the window where I watched the moon!! And this is the room where I spent thirty-seven interminable weeks taking orders from what may have been the ghost of a prominent late 19th century American artist, but was probably just a figment of my oxygen-starved brain! Ha ha ha! Oh, did I forget to tell you about that, what with my conveniently selective amnesia and all?” Seriously, are we just going to pretend that the whole Ghost Ryder thing JUST NEVER HAPPENED? ARE WE? Because … because actually that would be pretty great. I really hated that whole storyline while it was happening, and the last thing I want to do is watch it get rehashed by these two morons.

Meanwhile, at the tavern across town: “Yes, but we could make it more fun, Gary! I’ve just heard about this great new thing all the young people are doing! It’s called ‘sex’!”

Blondie, 12/2/07

Yes, it looks like Dagwood and Blondie are friends with … the Glamrockers? All of them? From the entire history of glam rock? What about the ones like David Bowie, who eventually moved on to other aesthetics? Does this have anything to do with the Glambaster account?

I think the key to this whole puzzle is the middle panel of the bottom row, in which Dagwood busts out some old-school breakdance moves to celebrate the fact that he doesn’t have to go sit on the Glamrockers’ couch and watch Velvet Goldmine yet again. Obviously by the late ’70s or early ’80s Dagwood had come to believe that the whole glam rock craze was worn out and too studied by half, and found refuge in the new raw and frentic styles arising from the streets of the South Bronx.

Mark Trail, 12/2/07

Normally Mark Trail’s Sunday strips exist in a world wholly separate from the daily plots, but I can’t help but wonder if today’s lavishly illustrated paean to ritualized combat is meant to serve as a sad counterpoint to the deadly conclusion to the battle for territory between Johnny Malotte and Bull Malone. Why can’t humans take a cue from our animal friends, who know how far is too far? Why couldn’t Johnny and Bull simply have forced each other to smell their knuckles by turns until one of them had enough and withdrew instead of resorting to gunplay?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/2/07

If there’s one constant in the world of Rex Morgan, M.D., it’s that Rex is kind of a dick. Thus, I’m actually kind of surprised that Rex didn’t take the opportunity to correct Mrs. Jail Escapee’s reference to Niki as Rex’s “son.” “I’m sorry, ma’am, maybe it’s because you’re a lowlife yourself, but it should be pretty obvious to anyone with any degree of class that this little street punk obviously did not grow up in the sort of upper middle class home that my doctor’s salary could provide. That explains why he constantly disappoints me, anyway.” Of course, he’s still a dick enough to have underdosed Mr. Escapee on painkillers before cutting his arm open. With Rex, being a dick always comes first, even if it means that he might get shot in the face. That’s just how he rolls.

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Archie, 11/30/07

Sure, I’m disturbed by the mysterious appearance of the word “GLOM!”, apparently written in mayonnaise and floating in mid-air, in panel two. We all are. But equally troubling is panel one, in which Jughead’s arms are invisible because he appears to be wearing some kind of barber’s smock. Does standard-issue gluttony no longer hold any appeal for our be-crowned slacker? In order to entertain himself, does he need to set little challenges — like, say, grabbing his best friend’s hamburger off his plate using nothing but his face? If so, be glad that GLOM is all we’re seeing in that second panel.

Slylock Fox, 11/30/07

I’m not smart enough to unscramble the items listed here that accompany Slylock’s little How To Be A Nosey Detective Who Offers His Opinions To People Who Don’t Ask speech, but I can tell you that one thing you’re never going to be able to unscramble is MAX’S FACE if he doesn’t stop trying to bust a move on Sly’s woman. Honestly, as if the fact that she’s literally three times taller than him and his natural predator wasn’t bad enough.

Speaking of busting a move, I’m betting that the kid in the back with the bow tie and satisfied expression is quite the hit with the ladies.

Mark Trail, 11/30/07

“Yes, when you’re accused of a crime you didn’t commit, who can prove your innocence? You need Andy the dog, P.I.!”

…

“You’ve been hit with a murder rap, and now you’re looking life in the pen straight in the face! Who do you call? Andy the dog, Attorney at Law!”

…

Well, that’s it. There’s actually no way I can make this any sillier.

For Better Or For Worse, 11/30/07

“You know what might have proved it to them? If they had just been able to watch me sign books and make small talk for another half an hour. But now they don’t really have a sense of how awesome I am. Sometimes Deanna is so selfish!”

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Mark Trail, 11/29/07

Johnny’s in jail and his wife is getting in touch with the only one who can help him: nature writer and vigilante Mark Trail! How will Mark help his fiery Québécois friend? By punching the mountie who arrested him? Punching the guards at the jail? Punching the prosecuting attorney, the judge, and every member of the jury at Johnny’s trial? Punching Bull Malone’s corpse? Mark’s the expert, so we’ll just have to wait and see, but it’s sure to be exciting.

Apartment 3-G, 11/29/07

OK, now the narration boxes are just being cruel. “Lu Ann takes a deep breath…” OF CARBON MONOXIDE.

Crock, 11/29/07

“Then she realized that we live in a tent in the desert without any electricity — or, for that matter, phone service.”