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Mary Worth, 8/4/10

There are few things in this life that I enjoy more than Mary Worth’s version of squalor. Some great previous examples include Mary’s journey past the Charterstone gates into the hellscape of “downtown,” Vera’s sad post-disinheritance apartment, and Wilbur’s not-son’s hilariously run-down hovel. But Lonnie and Fred’s crash pad is pretty great too, with its combination of decay (crumbling plaster, torn curtains) and disregard (picture askew; pink curtains, black wall, and baby blue chair placed in close proximity). And of course Fred carries this slovenliness over to his own person, with his wispy combover and unbuttoned, untucked shirt. (At least his undershirt is tucked it; he’s not a monster.)

The question is: what exactly is the relationship between Lonnie and Fred? I would actually be thrilled if they were a couple, because it would strike a blow against the stereotype that all gay men are classy and well dressed and have an innate interior design sense. Some of them just drink off-brand beer right from a can, a can that they set down on their hideous end table without using any kind of coaster.

Archie, 8/4/10

What … what exactly is happening in panel three? Has Archie opened the door only to be killed by Leroy’s elaborate wind chime-based booby trap? Or is “He really enjoyed making wind chimes” the phrase that triggers his post-hypnotic suggestion? What we see is Archie’s own self-perception, as his consciousness falls down a rabbit hole of wind chime hallucinations; meanwhile, his body stands silently in the Lodges’ foyer, awaiting instructions to kill.

Jumble, 8/4/10

Wow, I’m pretty sure this is the only puzzle game in the newspaper that’s ever depicted a guy who may well be on the verge of being beaten to death in a dank alley somewhere. You don’t get this with Sudoku, kids!

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Family Circus, 7/30/10

Rarely have I been more disgusted with a smile plastered all over Jeffy’s grotesque and unnaturally horizontal face. One can’t fault a child for hurling a rock at the ocean, but surely the vandalistic joy and apparent sense of achievement he feels as a result of this act are worthy of censure? I censure him. FEEL MY WRATH, JEFFY!

Mary Worth, 7/30/10

OK, so maybe Mary isn’t a “licensed therapist” per se, but you have to admit she’s making great progress with Dr. Mike. Just yesterday he was punching himself in the head; now he’s more healthily directing that anger outwards, engaging in fisticuffs with his invisible absent father.

Marmaduke, 7/30/10

“And sometimes he barks out demonic incantations so as to raise an nightmare army of walking corpses that will do his awful bidding!”

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Mary Worth, 7/29/10

I’m not going to lie to you: the deeper Dr. Mike sinks into misery, the happier I get. Thus I’m nearly ecstatic at the first-panel flashback, in which he mopes sullenly in the rain, having been stood up by his deadbeat dad once again, with only an albino pigeon for company. In panel two we see the present-day man tormented by these visions, and attempting to punch them out of his mind, or at least knock himself out and fall into blessed unconsciousness. Mary, watching over tented fingers, seemed stunned at just how quickly her latest meddle has gotten so awesome.

Momma, 7/29/10

But I don’t want you to think that I wish ill to all inhabitants of the comics pages! For instance, poor Tina is one of the minor characters whose plight I feel most keenly. She’s been exposed to this sort of Oedipal horror for the entire duration of her marriage, but from her crumpled mouth and thousand-mile stare in panel three, I’m thinking that today may be the day when she finally snaps.

Beetle Bailey, 7/29/10

Camp Swampy’s base doctor was a good choice to conduct the terrible medical experiments that the government is secretly carrying out on unwitting human subjects, since he appears to be literally incapable of empathy.

EXCITING CONTEST OPPORTUNITY: You have all probably been wondering “Why is Gil Thorp wasting its time this summer on golf, the most boring sport in existence, without even the fun of Marty Moon being humiliated?” Well, it might have something to do with a little contest being run by the Detroit News, which employs Gil Thorp writer Neal Rubin to write about sports as his day job. Readers vote for a News writer; whoever gets the most votes will get $500 bucks for his or her favorite charity, and one person who voted for the winner will be selected at random to spend some Quality Time with that writer. So obviously you should all vote for Neal, get some cash to Gleaners Community Food Bank, and get in the running to win “a lavish lunch for two with Neal Rubin at one of the area’s best restaurants, or lunch and a round of golf for two with Neal at Plum Hollow Country Club in Southfield.” If you play golf with him, you must dress up as Ben Franklin and keep trying to get him to bet on the game. DO IT! VOTE NOW! (Thanks to faithful reader jvwalt for the tip!)