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Wizard of Id, 3/16/10

One of the interesting things about legacy comics is that over the years the edges slowly wear off their high concepts. So, for instance, Hagar the Horrible is a savage Viking chief, but he spends more time bickering with his wife than he does raiding a hapless Europe, and when he does go marauding it’s all done in the most ritualized and bloodless way. Beetle Bailey is in the army, but he’ll never be ordered to shoot anyone or put himself into a position to be shot at, nor will he ever be hauled before a court martial for his various violations of military discipline.

The Wizard of Id is one of several characters, like Funky Winkerbean and the late Kudzu, who found themselves muscled out of the spotlight of the strips ostensibly named after them, and, well, I guess I’ve never really thought of him as all that “dark.” I mean, I suppose he is the royal wizard for a king who routinely tortures his citizens and imprisons them for years without trial, but for the past several decades his powers have mostly been put to use conjuring up minor ghosts and irritating his wife. I dunno, I guess I just expect more malice out of my dark wizards. Another modern punk kid ruined by Harry Potter!

Mary Worth, 3/16/10

If we want more proof of Kurt’s complete insanity, we should look no further than panel two. If I had been shown a picture of some demon nerd, his eyes glowing the most intense and evil brown, attempting to yank off a lock of young Teri Garr’s hair for who knows what foul purpose, I would have wanted nothing to do with him, yet Kurt actively sought him out! There’s nothing such a person wouldn’t be capable of!

In panel one, we see the final stage of Wilbur’s feeding process. Having crammed an entire sandwich down his gullet with a single shove, he’s now keeping his hand in place over his mouth to make sure it doesn’t come back out. When Wilbur eats a sandwich, it stays eaten (most of the time).

Family Circus, 3/16/10

“So why don’t you let me hold on to these, dearies, while I keep them safe for you down at the greyhound track?”

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Panels from Blondie, 3/14/10

Sunday’s Blondie as a whole, in which Dagwood chases (or is chased by?) a tiny owl that may or may not be a figment of his imagination through his own house is itself a worthwhile bit of fine entertaining madness. Still, I have to say that the two throwaway panels on their own constitute a delightfully weird bit of art that deserves to be showcased in isolation. Dagwood’s just trotting along, presumably from the couch to the refrigerator, or from bed to the bath, hands in pockets, when he gets WHOO’d at. I love that his immediate reaction is not fear or panic at this unfamiliar sound, but just a mere and casual “what?” as if he could work this whole thing out if only he could hear it better.

Panel from Mary Worth, 3/14/10

Mary Worth’s epigraphical madness continues, as she’s moved beyond indie rock darlings like Leonard Cohen and Daniel Johnston to late 19th/early 20th century radical Emma Goldman.

SEPARATED AT BIRTH???

If it turns out that all of Mary’s seemingly petty meddling has been part of a long-term plan to further the cause of anarcho-syndicalist revolution, I for one will be very impressed.

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Gasoline Alley, 3/9/10

In order to keep their iron grip on their last remaining pool of paying customers — old people — newspapers are spreading the lie that consuming print media sates your hunger because it supplies you with nutrients as well as information. You should totally be spending your money on the paper rather than cat food, seniors!

Mary Worth, 3/9/10

“I mean, she didn’t love you so much that she wasn’t sleeping with other people, but, uh, free spirit, yeah. Plus I imagine that her career as a Minnie Pearl impersonator was really taking off then, so she couldn’t afford to settle down.”

Crankshaft, 3/9/10

And that’s when Pan and Jeff knew for sure that Crankshaft’s rambling diatribe over dinner the previous week, in which the old man had vowed to “track down and murder each and every one of those mouse-eared bastards while they sleep,” was no idle boast. The police couldn’t stop him. The army couldn’t stop him. They would have to take care of this themselves.