Post Content

Happy New Year, everybody! How was your Chrismakkuhzatice? I got me a bunch of real nice presents, both comics-related (Complete Calvin and Hobbes, In the Shadow of No Towers, Persepolis) and otherwise. Meanwhile, of course, the various comics have marched on in their merry ways. There was some Christmas cheer:

At Christmas dinner, Judge Parker’s Sam Driver felt a need to not only help cook but to dress up as a chef for some odd reason. Is that a cravat he’s wearing? Or is it the front of a cape? Is he supposed to be “Chef Man”?

Gil Thorp took Christmas day as an opportunity show off both his freakish family (I think his son played Steve Austin’s boss in the Six Million Dollar Man) and his ability to speak in cursive.

And Mark Trail got to show off just which side of the War on Christmas he’s on. Notice that Jesus gets glossed over in the opening panels (which many newspapers don’t even print) so as to give more space to Santa, the gift-giving pagan nature-spirit amalgam who has supplanted our Lord and Savior in the greedy, greedy hearts of America’s children. At least we don’t have to stare at any more reindeer ass.

Not everyone took time off for the holidays, either:

Apartment 3-G’s Lu Ann cheered us all up with the most revealing outfit in the history of Apartment 3-G. Her little black dress makes Tommie’s clashing-greens golf shirt/sweatshirt combo look even more like something out of the late Victorian age.

In Spider-Man, some suicidal schmuck has decided that offing himself in Spidey’s accidentally discarded costume would be good for a larf. His worries about being “corny” are clearly misplaced, as this comic is a nonstop cavalcade of cheese.

Mary Worth’s Jane ex-Hand has instantly aged twenty years in deciding to instigate the most ludicrous tort case in the history of common law. Her case against “Ask Wendy” will no doubt be soon followed by cases brought against syndicated horoscope writers for failing to predict disaster and against Omar Sharif for shoddy bridge advice.

Mark Trail remains boring beyond belief, but now the dog-lovin’ hillbilly gal has magically turned blonde.

Anyway, hopefully this little catch-up whets your appetite for all things comical and curmudgeonly in 2006. Many people take milestones like the end of the year to re-evaluate their creative endeavors, or take their pet projects to the next level. Well, I have absolutely no big plans or surprises for you in the new year. You’ll get more of the same and you’ll like it! Well, there’s one exception: I hearby declare the end of “First Post.” Seriously. Put a comment on this site that serves no purpose but to indicate that you posted first and it will be purged forevermore by me. You have been warned! Josh has spoken!

Post Content

Mark Trail, 12/9-10/05

I never would have pegged Jack Elrod as part of the chardonnay-swilling liberal real-American-hating elite, what with his love of the outdoors and camping and hatred of swarthy people with facial hair. Still, this latest plotline has managed to indulge in just about every vicious stereotype about the proud, overall-wearing rural folk that make up the moral backbone of this great country: that they’re stupid, they’re lazy, they wear overalls all the time, they’re by and large hideously unattractive (except for the young womenfolk), they refuse to give up pet-napping for honest work, etc. Just about the only slander that we’ve avoided has been the one about incest and sexual depravity … until now. Yuck. Thanks, Mark Trail, thanks a lot. Still, I have to admit that I like the wordless tableau in the last panel of the second strip: Andy the hero dog valiantly comes to the aid of our blue-haired heroine, with Scrawny Hillbilly Dude stumbling backwards, his dumb hat falling off of his stupid head. Meanwhile, No-Neck Hillbilly Dude is lumbering into action in the background, afraid that his dreams of “over a thousand bucks!” are going to vanish in a fit of intrafamilial squabbling.

Meanwhile, Sunday’s nature lesson takes us to chilly Arctic:

Mark Trail, 12/11/05

Yes, I’m sure that, when choosing the beasts that would pull his sleigh, Santa gave careful consideration to reindeer’s endurance, their special heat-spreading circulatory system, their “unique hair” … and also the fact that they can goddamn fly. Sheesh, Mark, for a naturalist, you’re sure leaving out some important details.

Post Content

Apartment 3-G, 11/30/05

Yeah, why is she so down? Maybe it’s because she’s headed out to work, churning out awful press releases, pimping no-talent actors and playwrights, glossing over the crimes of evil multinational corporations — you know, the sort of things that keep New York, the greatest city in the world, humming, and all for a salary that isn’t going to keep a girl in Kate Spade and Jimmy Choo like she deserves. Meanwhile, the two of you, who have selfishly chosen high-paying, zero-stress jobs in the nursing and elementary-school-art fields, get to enjoy a leisurely breakfast over the paper, relaxing in your deeply dowdy but no doubt warm and comfortable robes.

Honestly, it’s like being white, unscrupulous, and upwardly mobile doesn’t mean anything anymore.

I thought that the chatter in the comments this morning had prepared me for the harrowing sight of Mark Trail’s muscular but nippleless torso. I was wrong. Hoo boy was I wrong. No one had mentioned that there was something deeply freaky about his face as well. Is that a shadow cast by his sunken, heroin-addict-style cheekbones, or is he just wearing black rouge? Whatever the case, he joins Dagwood Bumstead in the no-nips hall of fame:

Also, is anyone else as unsettled by the current teenage-jewel-theives-in-fetish-masks plot in the Phantom as I am?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.