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Momma, 9/13/07

OK, Momma, you’ve finally succeeded in convincing me of one of your central theses: that I would not, in fact, want to have Francis as a son. This is not because of the litany of abuse heaped upon him in roughly half of the feature’s strips; rather, it’s because the boy has no filter whatsoever on his sexual ruminations. You might remember that Francis likes to look at Internet porn with his mother in the same room. Today, in panel three, the smart thing to say would have clearly been, “Ah, I’ve also heard nice things about this young woman! Yes, I’d love for you to arrange a date for us.” Then there could be at least a few hot and heavy interludes without Momma’s constant, suffocating interference. Instead, he leapt up into the air and shouted “Woo-hoo! If Freda’s reputation is correct, I’ll soon be having consequence- and commitment-free sex with her, possibly in a kinky fashion!” (or, in bowdlerized Momma-speak, “Yes!! I will! I hear she’s a real swinger!”). Warning to overbearing mothers everywhere: this is what happens when you don’t allow proper boundaries to be established between you and your children. They just say this stuff right in front of you.

Judge Parker, 9/13/07

“Knock it off … I’m not in the mood!” Don’t feel bad, Trudi: this isn’t the first time Sam’s said those very words when faced with boobs like those.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 9/13/07

Here’s my suggestion for a sponge-bath-based TDIET:

Alf Ragweed’s images of nursing care have been heavily influenced by pornographic movies…

(In his thought balloon: “Hello Mr. Ragweed … I need to clean you up … I hear you’re so dirty … are there any particular parts you want me to focus on? Mmmmm … oh yeah …”)

But when he actually needs a sponge bath in a real hospital, how does it go? Need I tell you, dear reader?

(“All right, turn over, and — AWK-K-K-K! What the hell is this? Honestly, I’m not paid enough to deal with you … do you think wiping your crusty ass is a turn-on for me? … and it’s so small … wait till I tell the other nurses on the floor … etc., etc.”)

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/13/07

“Yes, I expect that’s a reunion Hugh isn’t looking forward to! Also, from panel two on, I’ll be played by Oscar-winner Billy Bob Thornton!”

Mark Trail, 9/13/07

Holy crap, is Homer going to start sitting on the duck eggs himself? O great Lord of Comics, we are not worthy of such joys.

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Herb and Jamaal, 9/11/07

Pretty much any Herb and Jamaal could stand in for any other Herb and Jamaal, but today’s strip strikes me as a particularly archetypical Herb and Jamaal. We can strip it down to its essentials to reveal the skeleton that supports roughly 40 to 60 percent of Herb and Jamaal strips. Observe:

Panel one, character one: “More or less reasonable but somewhat oddly constructed question?”

Panel two, character two: “Extremely vaguely worded answer containing virtually no specifics related to the original interrogative, which no human being at any time would come up with as a response to said question, but which could potentially set up a variety of humorous interpretations.”

Panel three, character one: “Semantically empty phrase that helps pad the strip out to four panels…”

Panel four, character one: “…innuendo that could barely be reasonably derived even from the vague answer in panel two, and that uses ‘dating’ as a code word for a sexual relationship so as to pass muster in family newspapers.”

Mark Trail, 9/11/07

Is it possible that Clubby McSideburns is a more complex character than your usual run-of-the-mill facial-hair-sporting bludgeon-wielding Mark Trail baddie? It’s not like he bashes ducks’ heads in as a hobby or anything; he’s just a working man whose livelihood depends on the smooth operation of this mall project, and, what’s more, he cares about Homer’s financial well-being, too — maybe even more than Homer does. Meanwhile, panel two — in which we learn that Shirley the Duck is so slow and/or dumb that a human being can sneak up on her and get a hand around her throat before she goes all quacky-quacky — suggests that perhaps we should allow Darwinism, and the county construction permit process, to run their course.

Judge Parker, 9/11/07

Sam isn’t wearing his fancy three-piece goin’-to-the-courthouse lawyerin’ duds, so it’s kind of puzzling why Rusty asks him to change before they stroll around the grounds of this presumably well-manicured winery. Presumably she’d just be humiliated being seen outdoors within thirty feet of a man wearing that … weirdly fronted … chest-hair exposing … robin’s egg blue … shirt … thing.

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You know, unlike some people, I was actually able to relax on my vacation.

Unlike Peter Parker, who is physically unable to resist the siren song of television, I was able to go eight whole days without reading any of the comics that weren’t featured on this site in my absence. So naturally I had to spend the better part of this morning reading everything I missed. Curse you, Houston Chronicle, for making it all so darn easy!

I was unable to decide on my favorite panel from the days I missed. Was it this one, where Gil Thorp openly boasts that he’ll call in his mob ties to silence journalists who dare question his insane coaching decisions?

Or this one, where Eric Mills imagines the sick thrill he’ll get from roasting Margo alive?

Silly Eric! Margo’s carapace is deceptively beautiful, but it will take more heat than an ordinary household grill can put out to damage it.

Anyway, no more living in the past! We must return to the present … where we find that things haven’t really changed much in the past week or so.

Blondie, 9/10/07

Blondie and Dagwood, for instance, are still caught in a hateful game of marital oneupsmanship that is played out via conspicuous consumption. There is, of course, only one way this can end: with the Bumstead house going up in flames in some kind of mutual potlatch gone horribly awry — both of them still inside, sadly.

Mark Trail, 9/10/07

Mark Trail has stepped away from the brink of a potentially interesting exploration of out-of-control tabloid media and out-of-control development hell-bent on getting its way to slip into a familiar groove. You can’t see it because of the dramatic shadows, but that dude in panel two has sideburns. Sideburns. Sideburns and a club. It’s fisticuffs time, people!

Marmaduke, 9/10/07

And, as ever, Marmaduke’s insatiable hunger for the flesh of human children rages unabated. It’s good to be back in the comics!

(Confidential to Tucson-area readers: Some Comics Curmudgeon fans are gathering at the Macayo’s at Ina and Oracle at 1 p.m. this coming Saturday if you’d care to join them!)