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Apartment 3-G, 11/27/07

I’d love to believe that the narration boxes in today’s Apartment 3-G are setting up some kind of tension between presentation and the underlying reality. I’d love to believe that Neil is practically wrenching Tommie’s arm out of its socket and coming close to hurling her on the floor, but in his self-centered way honestly believes that he’s executing a “graceful spin” and a “sweeping dip” — and that Tommie, despite her fears about a dislocated shoulder, is telling herself that she’s being spun gracefully and dipped sweepingly because she wants romance with Neil so badly. I want to believe all that because that would be kind of interesting. But I think this strip is just kind of poorly drawn.

Judge Parker, 11/27/07

I’m sorry, your majesty! Do you think that we down here at the county commission have nothing better to do than to show up at the front gate of all the massive compounds within earshot of every general aviation airstrip we approve? We’ve got Biff Dickens’ campaign donations to count, you know! Why can’t you read the 8-point-font ads in the Notices section of the newspaper to find out about the public meetings on the topic like everyone else?

Hmm … after having written that, I’m not entirely sure who exactly my vitriol is aimed at. I guess that’s because I kind of find everyone in this strip irritating.

Mark Trail, 11/27/07

Meanwhile, someone has framed Johnny Malotte — for murder! Bull Malone’s been shot — but by whom? Someone fired Johnny’s rifle — but who? Is Paul making up for his own perceived failings the only way he knows how? Has Bull faked his own death? Personally, I think the full moon behind Johnny offers a clue — he’s really a werewolf who shot Bull in an animalistic rage when he transformed, leaving him with no memory of the crime when he returned to human status! Sure, the theory needs work — probably a werewolf would have just ripped out Bull’s throat rather than fiddling with some firearm — but I mostly just want to see a Sunday strip about werewolves.

Family Circus, 11/27/07

Frosted flakes scattered across the tabletop, limp and soggy with Jeffy spittle, slowly hardening until they’ll be impossible to scrape off the formica = MOST DISGUSTING IMAGE I’VE HAD TO GRAPPLE WITH TODAY THANK YOU VERY MUCH, COMICS.

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Family Circus, 11/19/07

I’m not going to denigrate Billy’s school for letting him on the team based on the quality of his celebratory frolicking. After all, wasn’t the Ickey Shuffle pretty much the high point in the long and non-storied history of the Cincinnati Bengals franchise? The competition for ticket dollars among elementary school football programs is fierce, and so obviously each team will want to find the best showmen to keep the crowds coming back. No, what disturbs me is how dirty Billy is, which frankly doesn’t speak well for the aesthetic judgement of the coaches. I mean, what, did his “touchdown dance” consist of him rolling around in the dirt? Or did (God forbid) he attempt to breakdance? While I don’t doubt that our moronic little towhead might think that such pathetic displays might constitute a good signature celebration, I find it sad that they would earn him a spot on the team. This is why the athletic and drama departments really need to work together more closely.

Gil Thorp, 11/19/07

Speaking of which, Cully seems to have come to Coach Thorp’s office directly from rehearsal for the school production of Dracula. “I’m no killer! I merely drain the blood I need for sustenance from the veins of my victims, transforming them into the living dead.”

Gil’s smug diagonal leaning pose (a common enough Gil Thorp visual trope; see for instance here and here) is all the more hilarious because his little head game is epically misguided and pointless, and certainly nothing to be proud of. “See, Cully, I told you — you’re no killer! You’re a bully who breaks into people’s houses to steal electronics, and you’ll probably be addicted to meth soon if you aren’t already. Now run along! Oh, and please kill Marty Moon. I’m serious.”

Mark Trail, 11/19/07

Ah, if there’s one thing that’s going defuse a violent situation and calm down a dude who’s got a gun out in his boat, it’s condescendingly tousling his hair, then pumping him full of caffeine. That’s just the sort of crowd control techniques you learn at Mountie Academy! Or forest ranger school. Or in basic training, preparing to go fight Fritz with General Pershing’s army. Seriously, who the hell is that guy supposed to be?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/19/07

Make it stop, I’m begging you. Hey, remember when June went to the DMV! Ha ha, good times! Please. I … I won’t make fun of you any more. Just let up for a day or two. Please.

Also, fans of TDIET and/or toys will want to check out today’s Shortpacked!

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Gil Thorp, 11/14/07

Oh, Gil, Gil, Gil. I know that your desperate need to salvage some shred of dignity out of this season has lead to radical measures, like actually coaching, but surely you know that the reason your team is in this mess in the first place is because they’re not only athletically untalented, but incredibly dim. Building an offense around trickery and cleverness is doomed to failure in too many ways to even begin to describe. You’ll be lucky if the team hasn’t accidentally set itself on fire by the end of the first quarter. Gil’s fear that any other team might be trying to find out about the Mudlarks’ top secret plans is hilariously misplaced as indicated by the sadly deserted hall outside of LOCKER LOCKER, completely devoid of spies from rival high schools or snoopy reporters looking for a scoop.

There are so many more interesting phrases that could have followed “those years” in panel two. “Picking pockets,” for one. Or maybe “working as a magician at children’s parties.”

Mark Trail, 11/14/07

Today’s Mark Trail is yet another example of a recurring phenomenon in which I think the chatter of commentors has prepared me for the action in a strip, only to still be blown away when confronted with the reality. As so many of you noted, Johnny clearly isn’t punching Malone; he’s rubbing his fist in the cigar-smoking cad’s face, forcing his nemesis to smell whatever foul-smelling substance he’s smeared across his knuckles (don’t think about what that might be don’t think about what that might be).

The depiction of that saucy, arrogant Malone in panels one and two is actually quite charming. He looks like he just strode off of some Merchant Marine freighter, circa 1943, and if the Nazis tried their best to send him to the bottom of the Atlantic and failed, he’s not going to let some pissy little French Canadian discombobulate him with his stinky hand.

Mary Worth, 11/14/07

WAIT WHAT MARY DIDN’T CHECK THE CONDO BYLAWS BEFORE BRINGING HOME A DOG? HAS SHE GONE COMPLETELY INSANE? The condo bylaws are like sacred scriptures to Mary (as indicated by the fact that she keeps them in the upper drawer of her dresser, as if they were a Gideon’s Bible) and now she’s throwing ALL THAT AWAY because of some yapping pooping little mutt? Oh, Mary, the other condo-dwellers will be right to chase you out of Charterstone with torches and pitchforks — not because you’ve violated the condo codes, but because you’re obviously some kind of reverse pod person impostor who actually has normal human emotions.

B.C., 11/14/07

Today’s B.C. took on a current event in a weird, loopy, mushy way that didn’t make much sense and also wasn’t funny. Somewhere, Johnny Hart must be so proud.

Pluggers, 11/14/07

Pluggers hate foreign food almost as much as they hate actual foreigners.