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Happy New Year, everybody! How was your Chrismakkuhzatice? I got me a bunch of real nice presents, both comics-related (Complete Calvin and Hobbes, In the Shadow of No Towers, Persepolis) and otherwise. Meanwhile, of course, the various comics have marched on in their merry ways. There was some Christmas cheer:

At Christmas dinner, Judge Parker’s Sam Driver felt a need to not only help cook but to dress up as a chef for some odd reason. Is that a cravat he’s wearing? Or is it the front of a cape? Is he supposed to be “Chef Man”?

Gil Thorp took Christmas day as an opportunity show off both his freakish family (I think his son played Steve Austin’s boss in the Six Million Dollar Man) and his ability to speak in cursive.

And Mark Trail got to show off just which side of the War on Christmas he’s on. Notice that Jesus gets glossed over in the opening panels (which many newspapers don’t even print) so as to give more space to Santa, the gift-giving pagan nature-spirit amalgam who has supplanted our Lord and Savior in the greedy, greedy hearts of America’s children. At least we don’t have to stare at any more reindeer ass.

Not everyone took time off for the holidays, either:

Apartment 3-G’s Lu Ann cheered us all up with the most revealing outfit in the history of Apartment 3-G. Her little black dress makes Tommie’s clashing-greens golf shirt/sweatshirt combo look even more like something out of the late Victorian age.

In Spider-Man, some suicidal schmuck has decided that offing himself in Spidey’s accidentally discarded costume would be good for a larf. His worries about being “corny” are clearly misplaced, as this comic is a nonstop cavalcade of cheese.

Mary Worth’s Jane ex-Hand has instantly aged twenty years in deciding to instigate the most ludicrous tort case in the history of common law. Her case against “Ask Wendy” will no doubt be soon followed by cases brought against syndicated horoscope writers for failing to predict disaster and against Omar Sharif for shoddy bridge advice.

Mark Trail remains boring beyond belief, but now the dog-lovin’ hillbilly gal has magically turned blonde.

Anyway, hopefully this little catch-up whets your appetite for all things comical and curmudgeonly in 2006. Many people take milestones like the end of the year to re-evaluate their creative endeavors, or take their pet projects to the next level. Well, I have absolutely no big plans or surprises for you in the new year. You’ll get more of the same and you’ll like it! Well, there’s one exception: I hearby declare the end of “First Post.” Seriously. Put a comment on this site that serves no purpose but to indicate that you posted first and it will be purged forevermore by me. You have been warned! Josh has spoken!

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Mary Worth, 12/12/05

Just checking in briefly with what’s going on over at Divorce, Charterstone Style. Mary and Wilbur’s platitudinous smackdown has thankfully been replaced by catty underling innuendo. I’m no lawyer, but I’m pretty sure that if any of your minions come in and taunt you about your ex-husband’s financial success, nobody over at the EEOC or the Labor Relations Board is going to say anything if you brain them with your fetching purple-and-maize desk lamp.

Do the Mary Worth artists have some sort of thing for women whose eyes don’t point in the same direction?

On second thought, I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

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Nothing in Sunday’s funnies set my curmudgeonly world on fire, so I’m doubling up on Saturday:

Gil Thorp, 12/3/05

Gil Thorp is in the midst of proving that its divorce from anything even vaguely resembling competitive athletics is total. In the midst of Milford High’s biggest football game of the year, with the championship on the line, goody-goody Sean Pettibone admitted to the referees that he had stepped out of bounds on an apparent touchdown play. This is short order has rid him of his hateful, helmet-haired girlfriend and won him the affection of the towering cornrowed nice girl who’s been eyeing him all semester. Weirder yet, he’s being protected from the rightful vengeance of his fellow players by … Brent? Brent “Rap Dog”? For those of you who aren’t familiar with this strip’s pantheon of losers, this is the aforementioned Brent:

In what plane of existence is this young man handing out swirlies, rather than suffering on the receiving end of so many that his otoretolaryngologyst would be financially secure for the rest of his life? Seriously, if kids like this are administering swirlies in high school these days, I want to go back. I’ve got a list of deserving candidates.

Meanwhile, in Santa Royale:

Mary Worth, 12/3/05

I’m having a hard time remembering: what was it that goeth before the fall again? Oh, yeah, it’s insufferable goddamn smugness. Wilbur, a few weeks from now, when you’re standing terrified on your kitchen table, trying to fend off a mob of angry, lonely women with nothing but a broom handle, you may want to look back on this moment with a certain degree of humility.

Actually, Mary Worth did provide Sunday’s high point of interest. Things seem to be looking up for Josh “Mr.” Hand, the latest collateral victim of Wilbur’s lousy advice, especially now that he’s mysteriously morphed into David Bowie!