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A cornucopia of comics for your Sunday afternoon and/or Monday return to work! Let’s get one thing out of the way right off: in my rush to cover the burning hatred in the Family Circus on Friday, I neglected to bring this gem from Friday’s Gil Thorp to your attention:

Yeah, that’s what the ladies used to say about me in high school. Except they didn’t use the phrase “lead the league” because I didn’t play any sports. And they didn’t call me “cute” because they didn’t think I was. And they didn’t actually talk about “me” because they were largely unaware of my existence. But other than that.

It should also be noted that Jenny Su apparently leads the league in horrifying noselessness. I think that if I were moving in for a smooch, I’d be distracted by the twin punctures in the smooth flesh of the middle part of her face, where her nose should be.

Still, if she had told me in high school that I led the league in cute, I probably would have gone out with her. It’s a good line.

Now, on to Saturday. Let’s start with the foobs:

For Better Or For Worse, 1/21/06

(Gah, it’s foob images! What about the lawsuits? Well, as near as I can tell, what the For Better Or For Worse folks don’t like is if you “hotlink” to graphics on their server — that is, if you make graphics hosted on their computers appear on your site. Since I’m hosting this myself, it shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll see.)

It seems like everyone loves to hate For Better Or For Worse. I’m not one of the haters, but it does drive me up the wall at times. Mike’s mother in law in particular drives me batty, as she doesn’t seem to have been given a single redeeming characteristic to explain why her daughter puts up with her endless stream of crap. Thus, this week has been sort of torturous, though there was a glimmer of light when it was implied that she might be in the process of slipping into dementia, which might result in some deeply gratifying images of Mrs. Sobinski being dragged off in a straightjacket, raving like a lunatic about people banging on the ceiling downstairs. Saturday’s strip is particularly creepy, though, as it implies that Michael and Deanna’s choice to spawn more Pattersons might have set them on a collision course with madness themselves.

Mark Trail, 1/21/06

You know, if had told me earlier this week that Mark Trail was going to further slander the noble hillbilly, I would have said that it would be impossible to do so, but boy, would I have been wrong. On the bright side, this strip finally delivers the climactic fisticuff-heavy payoff that’s been bafflingly absent from the last few adventures. We start off with what may be the first kick in the ‘nads in the history of the comics. (It should be noted that in the strip before this, our skinny redneck threatened to “mess up that pretty face of yours,” thus proving that his grasp on anatomy is almost as tenuous as his understanding of hand-to-hand combat tactics.) Of course, mega-man Mark manages to dispatch the rural ruffian with a single blow and, in move long on dramatic symbolism and low on common sense, proceeds to carry his limp body over to a pen full of lovingly rendered pigs — while surrounded by heavily armed members of said ruffian’s family. Do they even know how to use those guns? Are they antiques left over from the War of Northern Aggression that won’t actually fire? For God’s sake, you dumb rednecks, shoot him already! A bullet in the shin will both teach this short-tempered naturalist a lesson and get you your dog ransom money faster than all this standing around slack-jawed business, trust me.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/21/06

The current Rex Morgan storyline has been so boring and slow moving that I’m not even going to bother to bring you up to speed on it. I’d just like to point out that Rex’s rasta-mon cab driver is frickin’ hilarious. Particularly amusing is his use of the phrase “hang on to your hair.” See, he’s unfamiliar with English idioms because he’s from Jamaica, where they speak … oh, wait.

Meanwhile, the Sunday funnies treated us to not one but two cartoons about dogs going to the bathroom.

Mother Goose and Grimm, 1/22/06

For Better Or For Worse, 1/22/06

The stink lines in the first FBOFW panel are nicely done, as is the look of mingled disgust and shame on Dixie’s face in the next panel. However, it’s Grimm’s precarious situation clinging to the hydrant that really made me laugh aloud. His look of contentment in the next to last panel, followed by his embarrassed admission that he really is going to do what must be done no matter how gross it gets, are real winners.

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Today I atone for posting slack by presenting you with three quickies:

The Lockhorns, 1/10/06

I spent an inordinate amount of brainpower trying to work out if this was supposed some sort of double entendre (involving the words “pussy”, “ball”, or “yarn”), but I think it’s just the typical, straight up, please-God-kill-me-now Lockhorns shtick. I draw your attention to the emotionally deadened faces of the non-Lockhorn half of this foursome. There are no non-Lockhorn recurring characters in this feature; presumably Leroy and Loretta inevitably pull their dinner-theater George-and-Martha routine in every available social situation and never get a second invite.

Mark Trail, 1/10/06

How much of a square-jawed, raven-haired badass is Mark Trail? He’s totally ignoring this heavily armed overalled hillbilly to have a conversation with his dog about how the two of them are going to escape from said heavily armed hillbilly’s animal-napping compound. It’s that sort of devil-may-care attitude that will get him and Andy busted out in no time, or get him shot in the back of the head. Either way, it’ll make for some good readin’.

One Big Happy, 1/10/06

Ah, James, Ruthie’s white-trashy friend: you think you’re hardcore, with your squirty cheese and your squirty desert. But if you’re just balling up a glob of your squirty cheese and popping it in your mouth with a jaunty FTTT, you’re not hardcore, do you hear me? You’re not hardcore unless you squirt that squirty cheese directly into your mouth. I’ve done it, James. Have you? Huh? Are you hardcore, James? Huh? Are you?

Ahem. Apropos of nothing, I would like to direct the attention of all you Ted Forth haters to this post on yellowjkt’s blog. If you don’t come away with newfound respect for the Tedster, you are a lost cause.

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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!