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Ziggy, 11/10/10

Ha ha, the clown wants to see the funnies because clowns are … funny, by definition, you see! And by “funny” I of course mean “horrifying beyond description,” particularly this clown, who’s some kind of terrifying clown-giant. I mean, I know Ziggy is supposed to be particularly small and gnomish even by the malformed standards of the inhabitants of Ziggy-world, but the two of them are ostensibly sitting on the same bench, and the top of the clown’s thigh is nearly level with Ziggy’s armpit. In fact, the clown’s limbs seem to be intruding rather generally into Ziggy’s personal space, and while Ziggy is just the sort of meek loser who often finds his boundaries crossed without any protest on his part, I feel that this clown-beast has sinister intentions. The ellipsis that begins his dialogue is perhaps relevant. “I always think that a man should die with a smile on his face. So, are you finished with the funnies?”

Mary Worth, 11/10/10

Oh my goodness, look at how ecstatic Adrian is in panel two, as Scott tells off Jill! Ha ha, her hero, who can save her the trouble of asserting herself with her friends, or other humans generally! She’ll definitely be going on that non-vacation honeymoon with him now!

One Big Happy, 11/10/10

Someone needs to explain to Ruthie that when it comes to dogs “exercise” is often a euphemism for “pooping.” But, whatever, she’s apparently OK with filthy squirrels running all through her house, so maybe a few dog turds here and there aren’t a big concern for her.

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Mary Worth, 11/8/10

So why exactly does Adrian put up with Jill pushing her around again? Last week I suggested that it might be because Adrian derives unseemly enjoyment from being pushed around, but we can’t ignore the possibility that it’s just a result of wholly justified fear of violent consequences. After all, today’s strip makes it clear that Jill is in fact a terrifying giantess, looming a full head taller than the normal humans around her, who will always obey her lest their bones be crushed to make her bread.

Like many freakish mega-hominids, Jill is a bit behind the times when it comes to fashions. Jill, simple, low-key designs are what all the snobs are after these days. You aren’t seriously pushing Adrian towards some kind of curlicued frippery, are you? If you’re going to be supercilious, you’ve got to stay on the cutting edge of modern tastes, or you risk becoming ridiculous — more ridiculous than a giantess in a stationery store is normally, even.

Herb and Jamaal, 11/8/10

I like how put out Herb looks in the final panel here. Come on, Jamaal, just because you never talk about the sex afterwards doesn’t mean you have to pretend every time that you’ve never done it before.

Mark Trail, 11/8/10

So Saturday’s excitement resulted from a deer leaping into the road, sacrificing herself to save Mark’s life? Huh. I don’t think any of us were expecting that, although not so much in a “what a surprising but satisfying narrative twist!” way but rather in a “SERIOUSLY WHAT THE HELL” way.

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Panel from Mary Worth, 11/7/10

Few things brought more delight to me today than the opening panel of Mary Worth. “I had fun!” the fleeing K-car declares sunnily as it speeds away from the towering concrete monstrosity that is Charterstone. Never has this supposedly high-end condo complex looked more like a ramshackle series of cinderblock structures thrown up in short order after the whole area had been leveled in an Allied bombing raid, following a plan laid out by M.C. Escher. The faux-Spanish tiles slapped on the roofs cannot hide the buildings’ essential ghastliness. Hovering merrily over it all, of course, is an Oscar Wilde witticism about stabbing people.

Crankshaft, 11/7/10

As a rule, Crankshaft isn’t shy about its Northeast Ohio setting, or its characters’ love of the various hapless Cleveland-area teams, so I’m a bit confused as to why Crankshaft’s vitriolic screed today focuses only on “our football team,” Herb and Jamaal-style. Is the strip under pressure from the syndicate to somehow be more “universal” and “relatable”? Can’t readers across the country think of at least one angry, unpleasant old man that they hate, without needing to imagine that he’s raging about their football team in particular?