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Marvin, 8/19/08

The feature that brought you “Belly Laffs” now presents a running “gag” that’s even more recycled-art-a-riffic: “Ask Marvin,” in which not even the third panel contains any illustrative artwork! No, it’s just three panels of a terrible, typing baby, who urges his fellow infants to be so incredibly hateful that parents won’t just think twice about having more children, they’ll actually be physically unable to have sex because they’re so soul-blightingly exhausted!

Speaking of babies, faithful reader aquagirl2 fears that her youngest bears more than a passing resemblance to the terrible Marvin. What do you all think?

The haircut is a little uncanny, I think, but that’s easily fixed with scissors or clippers. Remember, a bald baby is better than a Marvin-resembling baby.

UPDATE: At aquagirl2’s request, I’m posting the other pic she sent me, in which her little Marvin-a-like looks happier and cuter. I didn’t put this up originally because he doesn’t look as much like Marvin here — in particular, his eyes aren’t let up with Satan’s hellfire — but he does seem to be thought-ballooning something, possibly about making his parents’ life miserable, or about crapping.

Gil Thorp, 8/19/08

Elmer’s too dumb to realize why “that job for [his] coach” involves painting a huge target in an open field and standing on the bulls-eye. Having already bombed Jimmy Hughes’ house with his deathplane, Gil is now flying to Michigan to eliminate Elmer as well, determined to put an end to these painfully boring summer storylines once and for all.

Mary Worth, 8/19/08

Dear Toby Cameron:

You probably think that we can’t see your thought balloons, and that you therefore are free to visualize your shirtless husband whenever you’d like. Well, we can, and you aren’t.

Sincerely,
The Mary Worth-reading public

Crankshaft, 8/19/08

Ho ho, the battle of the cranky old folks just keeps getting better! It’s pretty obvious that at the end of this trip to the cemetery somebody’s going to end up at the bottom of a shallow grave — but who? I’m on tenterhooks!

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/16/08

I am sadly far removed from the good, honest, manly work that goes on aboard boats, so the only association I have with the phrase “cabin boy” is “teenage sexual plaything for lonely sailors.” Presumably there’s something nautical that a cabin boy would be making himself useful for, but if thirtysomething landlubber jerkface Rex Morgan could actually do something productive on board other than show off his manly chest so that Lenore and/or her crew can get their jollies, I’d love to hear it.

For Better Or For Worse, 8/16/08

Oh, also, Grandpa Jim is dying or something. I’m going to pass over the tiresome melodrama here for the moment (if he really didn’t want to spoil her day, then why did he go and have a heart attack in the middle of it?); I mostly want to comment on Uncle Phil’s creepy, glowing eyes in the next-to-last panel. Though it’s not entirely clear what they’re supposed to denote, this is a very striking effect, so much so that I immediately remembered the last time I saw it in this strip: the day that Liz and Anthony half-assedly got engaged. One can only assume that it denotes the imminent death of something wonderful and precious (e.g., Liz’s grandfather, Liz’s carefree existence as a human being who thinks and feels).

Marvin, 8/16/08

Here’s a question that has puzzled generations of professional humorists. Imagine that you have a terrible, terrible joke. This joke has nothing to do with the interests or concerns of babies. If that joke were stretched out over three panels, and thought-ballooned by three near-identical drawings of a heavy-lidded, sullen, unlikeable infant, would it become funny, or at least less unfunny? Thanks to the bravery of this Marvin, we now know that the answer is a resounding “no”!

Dick Tracy, 8/16/08

Another philosophical conundrum: Is depicting a mangled human being, his flesh torn to ribbons by his own savage dogs, somehow acceptable for the comics pages if an onlooker makes some half-assed wordplay comparing the poor soul to a pork chop or t-bone steak of the sort that you’d see for sale in your local supermarket? Based on the absence of outraged letters demanding the removal of Dick Tracy from all newspapers everywhere, the answer is apparently “yes”!

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Apartment 3-G, 7/26/08

Here are three lexical units that would never, ever come out of the mouth of any self-respecting Manhattanite: “Best part,” “South Dakota,” and “!!!”

Marvin, 7/26/08

“She died five years ago and I’m so, so lonely! I’m just trying to speed along the massive heart attack that will end my empty existence without her.”

Slylock Fox, 7/26/08

I’m not sure what sinister tools she’s hiding in that briefcase, but Bonnie’s mission has my blessing. Boo Boo must never be allowed to reproduce.