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Apartment 3-G, 5/6/07

Yesterday, we saw Lu Ann’s oxygen-starved brain conjuring up images of everyone who had singularly failed to rescue her from her sinister spectral captivity, leaving open the question: who will save her, since actually killing her off would be unthinkable? Today, we get the surprising answer: It’s Margo’s comical immigrant mother, Gabriella! There’s a certain justice to this; she’s the one who essentially told Lu Ann that ghosts were awesome in the first place, so now she’s going to have to knock down that door in her bathrobe, babbling in fake-o Spanish and wielding a fistful of protective charms from the Old Country to save our dim blonde heroine. Remember: do not rely on WASPs to fight against the forces of the Other World. Only ethnics can do so, and the Professor has become far too assimilated to help.

Slylock Fox, 5/6/07

Ah ha! Our oft-harassed beaver, previously seen being victimized by loose women in discos and harassed by humans in airports, at last has an alliterative name of his own: Brendan! He’s also upgraded his wardrobe, sporting a pimpalicious chartreuse suit with matching befeathered fedora. And of course, he’s as hilariously outraged and quick to tattle to Slylock as ever.

By the way, I know it’s almost impossible to read the solution in this graphic, but Count Weirdly is about to be hauled off for the entirely victimless crime of jamming Brendan’s TV so that it only receives the Chess Channel, and the only evidence of wrongdoing is that he’s eating his broth with a fork. Does a little eccentric behavior make you automatically guilty in Slylock Fox’s police state? The man’s name is “Weirdly,” for God’s sake; you can’t expect him to consume soup like a normal person.

I do like the vicious attack stork in the “How To Draw” feature at the bottom of the page. As for the six differences, the most prominent one that I could find is that the kid in the top panel will eventually go on to a successful career as an illustrator and graphic novelist, while the other boy will take “practical” courses in school and go on to a soul-sapping life of quiet desperation as he toils away in a job he despises.

Mary Worth, 5/6/07

If panel three demonstrates a typical battle in the war for the elder Sheilds’ love, I think Vera’s a bit to quick to blame sexism for her low state. Note that her brother is pouring the old man a tasty flute of the finest champagne, while Vera is thrusting a plate bearing two lumpy, shapeless brown things at him. Advantage: Von.

The grammatical set-up Vera uses in panel seven (“when my father’s death occurred”) is quite revealing. Usually people do that sort of thing when they’re trying to deny their own agency in the matter. She’s not explicitly lying, but she knows she won’t keep Mary on her side if she says “Years later, the situation changed when I bludgeoned my father to death.”

Funky Winkerbean, 5/6/07

Oh, Les, you cut-up! There’s nothing that helps your pedagogical strategies like a little public humiliation. We’ll all have a good laugh, at least until the inevitable HIPAA lawsuit.

Zits, 5/6/07

Desperate to extend a moment of happy camaraderie with his son but unfamiliar with the concept of the fist bump, in panel five Walt crosses a line that can never be uncrossed.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/2/07

Ha ha! Hugh Avery is sitting in the dry, crusty, white remains of “Sarah’s” “ice cream”!

No, wait, take those quotes off of “ice cream.” We all know the Morgans love their ice cream.

I am looking forward to the continued ritual humiliation of Hugh as this adventure continues. He’s forced to sit in day-old ice cream! His head is forced into a bucket of dirty water! He’s pelted with bottles in an alley! It’s just like a Jackie Chan movie! Fortunately, after suffering these indignities, Jackie Chan generally goes all crazy martial arts-stylie against his oppressors, which we can only pray will happen here.

For Better Or For Worse, 5/2/07

Wow, these two are looking awful grim in panel five there. Like, Funky Winkerbean grim. Buck up kids; you’ve just managed to avoid a lifetime of bland, soggy togetherness. You ought to be praising the heavens as you run from each other as fast as humanly possible.

Some commentors have suggested that the Mustache’s “escort” is going to be … his daughter! Liz an’ Anthony’s love can find flower at the beautiful nuptuals after all! Except that that, since they’re both going anyway, the presence of little Françoise would not preclude them from going there together, sitting together, grinding on each other to “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe,” etc. No, some poor not-Liz girl (let’s call her DisposaDate) will be forced to sullenly sit at their table, idly picking at her warmed-over chicken, while the Mustache and Lizardbreath discover the depth of their watery, predictable love for one another.

Also: “To what do I owe the honor of this most welcome visit”? “He did it up right”? “I came to see if you’d be my ‘escort’?” Who the hell writes this dialogue? It hurts my soul.

Mary Worth, 5/2/07

Hey, everyone! Brother! Just in case you’re wondering. Brother.

Gil Thorp, 5/2/07

Oh, Ken, it looks like “Clambake” is “coming” to “the Bucket” whether you “like” it or not. I love Gil Thorp so God-damned much. It’s a nonstop thrill ride of hilarious depravity.

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Mary Worth, 4/27/07

WOO-HOO, VON’S HERE, YEAH! And he’s … well, he’s kind of underwhelming, actually. Typical boring WASPy Mary Worth dude. More intriguing is Vera’s immediate deployment of karate moves against him — she’s clearly been taking classes in physical and emotional self-defense. Also, now that Vera’s had dinner with Mary and received the old biddy’s tentative stamp of approval, she’s permitted call upon the creepy, silent cast of Charterstone extras for protection. Von’s right to cower; the close-mouthed creeps will shuffle at him wordlessly and then smother him with their poorly drawn hands unless Vera calls them off.

Dennis the Menace, 4/27/07

It’s also possible that George has just quietly died sitting up. In which case Dennis wouldn’t be so much “menacing” as “creepily affectless.”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 4/27/07

So here’s an odd little story: faithful reader Bob Byrd actually forwarded this strip to me a week ago. Apparently it appeared in place of Tank McNamera on the Yahoo comics page last Wednesday, which is pretty bizarre because the two strips are handled by different syndicates and Yahoo doesn’t even carry Rex Morgan. You’ll note that this is not the usual King Features in-house coloring job: the color palette is more muted, the flesh tones more realistic, and there’s not a bit of electric blue in sight. The graphic is also bigger than what King usually syndicates.

Anyway, it’s been fun sitting on this for a week and watching the strip feebly setting up Rex as having something like a shred of integrity, since I knew he would throw his highfalutin’ moral qualms to the wind as soon as he got rubbed the wrong way by some rich Brit. The good Dr. Morgan is a pillar of the community and he’ll thank you not to forget it; he doesn’t like being treated like a common chauffeur even if he shows up at the airport with a sign bearing the name of his passenger and doesn’t identify who exactly he is. Rex doesn’t really care about his friendship with Heather or even his stock portfolio, but treat him like the hired help and he will fuck you up — in this case, by driving you around reeeeaaal slow-like, which should be thrilling to watch.

Gil Thorp, 4/27/07

Oh man, not only does Clambake have vaguely obscene batting advice to offer, but vaguely obscene pitching advice as well! Yes, Mark’s big hands will be perfect — especially the left one, with its long, pretty fingernails.

It’s interesting to note that, while it took months of hectoring from the stands to get Lisa Wyche’s mom an unpaid position as an assistant coach for the girl’s basketball team, Coach Thorp has pretty much handed over his team to this deranged old coot in only the second week of practice. Gil is presumably hanging out under the bleachers smoking a joint or something while Otha Yancy holds hands with his pitching staff.

(By the way, unbelievably only one person has purchased Clambake gear so far. WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE? HE’S CLAMBAKE, FOR GOD’S SAKE! CLAMBAKE!!!!)

DIck Tracy, 4/27/07

That look of bug-eyed ecstasy in panel three comes from the feeling of climax that America’s greatest detective only gets from killing a perp with his bare hands. (The stiff, uplifted angle of his tie is suggestive here.) You might think that falling head-first into a smokestack and presumably being scalded to death is a particularly convoluted and gruesome way to go, and you’d be right, but you have to keep in mind that Dick Tracy has been leaving a trail of villainous corpses in his wake for 130 years or however long he’s been in the newspaper, and it’s hard to not repeat yourself. This is a strip that, in its first appearance in this blog, featured a pair of folks dying as a flaming wind generator plummeted to the ground, so expect the bizarre.