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One Big Happy, 2/12/06

Yes, kids, it’s true: all those tchotchkes you bought your grandparents — all that crap you thought they treasured so much? Baloney. They didn’t want any of it, and only dragged it out when you came over to avoid hurting your feelings. And not because they actually cared about your feelings, but just because they knew you’d start squalling like a little baby, and if there’s one thing they earned by living through the Depression and fighting World War II and mortgaging themselves to the hilt to move to the suburbs and never once complaining when their kids started smoking dope and burning their bras, it was the right to not hear you cry, you little brat.

Also, those plastic-covered sofas in their living rooms? They had sex on those. Thus the plastic. Easy wipe-down.

My question for you in this One Big Happy: what exactly is Grandma doing on the computer in the rightmost panel of the second row? If it has something to do with a filthy, filthy browser history, my suspicions about life are all confirmed.

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One Big Happy, 2/7/06

Every time I decide that One Big Happy is just too precious for its current position on my mental comics map — just on the good side of the funny/not funny dividing line — it goes and keeps itself in my good graces. Today’s strip obviously didn’t wow me with its intensely lame punchline; rather, I was charmed by Joe, who’s usually overshadowed by his younger sister’s cranked up adorability. In this strip, the towheaded youngster is clearly determined to fight with every ounce of strength he has to preserve his own ignorance. I like his expression in panel one as he airily dismisses his mother’s attempt at expanding his knowledge base; but the real gem is panel three, as he silently fumes at being forced to learn something. The angry stare simultaneously conveys the fact that he (1) doesn’t know the answer, (2) is embarrassed that he doesn’t know the answer, (3) doesn’t really want to know the answer, and (4) deeply resents that he’s even having this conversation. It’s a facial expression that’s only going to get less attractive as Joe gets older, and yet I have a feeling that his family, classmates, transient girlfriends, and, sooner than later, the juvenile justice system will be seeing a lot more if it in the years to come. Frankly, if there were no fourth panel, this strip would be just about perfect.

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Today I atone for posting slack by presenting you with three quickies:

The Lockhorns, 1/10/06

I spent an inordinate amount of brainpower trying to work out if this was supposed some sort of double entendre (involving the words “pussy”, “ball”, or “yarn”), but I think it’s just the typical, straight up, please-God-kill-me-now Lockhorns shtick. I draw your attention to the emotionally deadened faces of the non-Lockhorn half of this foursome. There are no non-Lockhorn recurring characters in this feature; presumably Leroy and Loretta inevitably pull their dinner-theater George-and-Martha routine in every available social situation and never get a second invite.

Mark Trail, 1/10/06

How much of a square-jawed, raven-haired badass is Mark Trail? He’s totally ignoring this heavily armed overalled hillbilly to have a conversation with his dog about how the two of them are going to escape from said heavily armed hillbilly’s animal-napping compound. It’s that sort of devil-may-care attitude that will get him and Andy busted out in no time, or get him shot in the back of the head. Either way, it’ll make for some good readin’.

One Big Happy, 1/10/06

Ah, James, Ruthie’s white-trashy friend: you think you’re hardcore, with your squirty cheese and your squirty desert. But if you’re just balling up a glob of your squirty cheese and popping it in your mouth with a jaunty FTTT, you’re not hardcore, do you hear me? You’re not hardcore unless you squirt that squirty cheese directly into your mouth. I’ve done it, James. Have you? Huh? Are you hardcore, James? Huh? Are you?

Ahem. Apropos of nothing, I would like to direct the attention of all you Ted Forth haters to this post on yellowjkt’s blog. If you don’t come away with newfound respect for the Tedster, you are a lost cause.