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Hi and Lois, 8/9/07

Ho ho! Hi’s decided to take his family on a bizarre Western “dream vacation,” which, as we’ve seen over the past week or so, several of the Flagstons are dubious about. Now we learn that they couldn’t even afford the trip! Hi knows the family is being crushed by credit card debt, and he’s looking desperately for some magical way to get out of the hole! Maybe they’ll go bankrupt and their house will be repossessed! Too bad about that housing bubble bursting, eh Lois? Wait, where’s Lois? My guess: prostituting herself so they can afford dinner tonight, or perhaps committing suicide.

Beetle Bailey, 8/9/07

Hee hee! Cookie has one job to do at Camp Swampy — one — and he’s terrible at it, and everybody on base — the men who are supposed to be his comrades — lets him know it. Naturally this is killing him inside, so he climbs up on the roof. Maybe he just wants to get away for a bit, maybe it’s a plea for attention. Either way, the soldiers’ hatred is just further inflamed, and they openly call for his suicide.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 8/9/07

Hardy hardy har! That feeling of overwhelming love and oneness you get at the beginning of a relationship? Turns out it’s just equal parts sexual attraction and self-delusion! Once you’ve finally chosen to spend your life with a person, that’s when the scales fall from your eyes and you realize you’re chained to another insufferably imperfect human being, forever — and the only way out is suicide.

(Dear God, I hope “you know who” isn’t Al Scaduto’s wife.)

The Phantom, 8/9/07

It’s been pretty well established that what’s-his-name, the dude with the gun, is pretty reluctant about using it, so it’s actually fairly plausible that this couple could literally be beating up an armed man with both hands tied behind their back (the husband is doing the head-butting today, but yesterday his wife managed to get in a good foot to the groin). This is fortunate, because otherwise the Ghost-Who-Doesn’t-Do-Much might have to intervene, which would cut into his valuable musing time.

Family Circus, 8/9/07

I feel weird saying this about the Family Circus, but there’s a lot I love about this cartoon. I love that Billy looks genuinely angry that he’s going to be spending four valuable hours a night staring at this tiny television set while they’re at the grandparents’ house — so angry that he appears to be shouting at the screen at the top of his lungs. I love the look on Thel’s face in the other room, as she realizes that her unruly, obnoxious children are once again going to make her look bad in front of her own parents. I love the way Big Daddy Keane is marching in from off-panel — because this is a panel from the pre-PC ’70s, presumably Billy will be getting the strap again in short order. And I love the fact that PJ is awkwardly holding his shorts up, probably because he’s just crapped in them.

Mary Worth, 8/9/07

Drew, you’re a healer! You took the Hippocratic Oath! And yet your colleague here is clearly either having a stroke or is bombed out of his mind on the job, and all you can say is “Geez”. For shame!

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Marvin, 8/6/07

I ought to have hated today’s Marvin, because it combines two of my least favorite things: ham-handed technology jokes that demonstrate only a passing acquaintance with technology and aim to shower contempt on “the kids today,” and Marvin. But I have to admit a certain fondness for it, because it climaxes with Marvin using his new and bafflingly l33t power of speech to insult his father’s sartorial choices. I mean, sure “h8” and “ur” would when spoken be indistinguishable from “hate” and “your”, but if Marvin’s dialog is all going to consist of the sort of heavy-lidded contempt for his parents’ aesthetics (and, hopefully, lifestyle choices and closely-held values) on display in the third panel, I’m not going to quibble about the orthography.

Mary Worth, 8/6/07

One of the great things about not having an office job (or a hospital job) is that I don’t have to listen to my annoying coworkers’ ill-informed opinions about my love life. Nosey McWhitepants sure has got a lot of nerve! Presumably he’s not getting any himself, and lives vicariously through Dr. Drew’s conquests, but his puritan upbringing forces him to filter it all through a layer of disapproval. It’s sad, really, when it isn’t irritating.

Dr. Corey the Younger here demonstrates the way turns of phrase run in families, borrowing the “very special friend” formulation that his father and Mary use to describe their ambiguous quasiromantic relationship. But that quick pimp slap to the throat? That’s all Drew, baby.

The Phantom, 8/6/07

The Ghost-Who-Revels-In-The-Psychic-Pain-Of-Others knows that the skull mark will heal eventually, but a good dose of post-traumatic stress disorder will last a lifetime.

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Archie, 8/2/07

The Archie Joke-Generating Laugh Unit 3000 managed to churn out a serviceable punchline today (by the abominably low standards of the legacy comics industry) but it’s the weirdness of the setup that really places this strip squarely in the uncanny valley. Who is gap-toothed Leroy? Why does Archie hold him in such contempt? Did Archie’s chest expand between panels one and two, or did his head shrink? Why is he wearing an ankle-monitoring bracelet? Why are Riverdale’s beaches studded with ominous-looking targets? Sadly, I fear that the all of these anomalies are just the AJGLU’s idea of background color.

Mark Trail, 8/2/07

Seeing Mark announce “I’m your worst nightmare!” is of course a delight, a little love letter to everyone everywhere. Still, it wouldn’t be Mark Trail if the dialog emphasis failed to violate all norms of conversation among English-speaking human beings. Mark emerges from his hidey-bush and bellows “I KNOW ABOUT IT!” at the top of his lungs, then politely adds “I’m your worst nightmare” in his indoor voice. Perhaps all the boldfacing in the first word balloon tired him out.

Anyway, we are of course all on tenterhooks to see tomorrow’s punchery. Your firearm is no match for Mark’s bare fists, Buzzard!

Mary Worth, 8/2/07

If you ever needed proof that Mary Worth is some kind 18th-level Jedi ninja archbishop of meddling, this is it. By having a relationship with a somewhat older man, Dawn is enjoying herself in an ever-so-slightly unconventional way, which Mary obviously thinks is the moral equivalent to genocide. Rather than let our young romantic see her revulsion at this depravity, however, she instead pretends to be on Dawn’s side, only to plant a tiny seed in her mind by comparing her and Dr. Drew to the Camerons, Charterstone’s most loathsome couple. Now, every time Lover Boy, M.D., moves in for a smooch, Dawn will be unable to keep from visualizing Ian’s bloated, chinbeared visage, purple with drink and contempt, hovering before her. She’ll move on to a more age-appropriate boyfriend — or a nunnery — in no time, and Mary with allow herself a brief, subtle smile of satisfaction.

UPDATE: In this context, I simply must post to this excellent post at Subdivided We Stand, from faithful reader Smitty Smedlap.

The Phantom, 8/2/07

I know it’s not socially acceptable to test this out, but I’m reasonably sure that, while there are probably several more or less accurate ways to transliterate the sound made by an oar handle plunging into a man’s solar plexus, “PUNT!” is probably not one of them. I will allow that “UHHFF!!” is probably a pretty good approximation of the sound one would make when so oared, however.

Note that the Ghost-Who-Uses-The-Mori-Youth-Entrusted-Into-His-Care-As-Bait has sent a group of mostly naked teenagers with improvised bludgeons into a fracas against men armed with automatic rifles, while he stands above and fires a desultory round or two from his pistol in the general direction of the action. I suppose that if he leapt down, we’d all be denied yet another shot of his stripey ass.

Marmaduke, 8/2/07

This is one of the filthier things I’ve seen today. If you’re a sicko like me, it’s fun to imagine the caption without the second sentence.

Dick Tracy, 8/2/07

“The chief has just issued an APB for an elderly man!” And the cooks at Gitmo start making fewer halal meals and more bran muffins and prune juice as the several million Americans who fit this one-sentence description are rounded up for interrogation.

The Family Circus, 8/2/07

Sadly, the attempt to assassinate the Keane clan was botched. “Next time,” swore a cowed human race, sick to death of their antics. “Next time.”