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Funky Winkerbean, 9/8/06

Is Funky Winkerbean where joy goes to die? It’s not enough to have Mopey McMopester slouching around and complaining because his best friend is finally getting some; apparently, his face needs to be drawn to make it look like he’s been crying more or less constantly for the past three days. My prediction is that our jilted nerd will eventually get together with this gothy Asian chick; but, by the time they get around to doing glum, black-clad things to one another, the other kid and the cheerleader will have broken up. Either that, or Chien and Jessica have some longstanding beef that will sunder this friendship for good. Because nobody can be happy in Funky Winkerbean, ever.

Luann, 9/8/06

Meanwhile, there are changes afoot at a much happier high school, as Gunther and Luann do a half-assed thought-balloon version of the classic dialogue from Double Indemnity. I wonder if what Luann is wondering is, “Jesus, how is it possible for Gunther to have tiny, beady little pupils and no eyeballs to speak of? And what’s the deal with the huge expanse of skin between his eyes and his eyebrows?” That’s what I’m wondering, anyway.

Pluggers, 9/8/06

Q. How many pluggers does it take to reinforce traditional gender roles?

A. All of them.

This strip, which is apparently so retrograde that it the Chief Plugger got tired of waiting for someone to submit it and just whipped it up himself, poses an interesting philosophical question: Is there such a thing as a female plugger? Or is Pluggerdom an all-male brotherhood, with the best that anyone without external genitalia can hope for being the lesser but still honorable title of “plugger’s wife”? While this cartoon seems to imply the latter, remember that the Fox-Woman (or is she a kangaroo? or some kind of dog?) has already been established to have a job that involves wearing a suit, which complicates matters: maybe there are she-pluggers, but this woman is only a plugger-in-law. She’s clearly acclimating real nice, though. Wouldn’t want those soft, feminine hands, good for cleaning dishes and spanking li’l pluggers, all calloused up by rough, strenuous man’s work like changing the light bulbs. Hope you’re don’t mind sitting in the dark till your husband gets back from the pawn shop, lady.

Mary Worth, 9/8/06

You know you’re in trouble when the Woody Allen defense suddenly seems like a good idea.

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Spider-Man, 9/7/06

When we last checked in with the web-slinger, he had just been knocked unconscious by a sinister butler. Since then, I have refrained from commenting on the various indignities this strip has visited upon its readership. When the murderous manservant drove out to a cliff where he had somehow prearranged a camera set-up to record his snuff film, I stayed silent. When Spider-Man spent an entire strip being held at gunpoint claiming in his thought balloons that he couldn’t move without endangering the suddenly not-evil Narna, then moved out of the way the very next day, I said not a word. When Narna tried to save our hero by flinging an enormous rock, only to hit him in the back of the head — despite the fact that, in the panel where she threw the rock, Spidey was facing towards her — I held my tongue.

But this — this — cannot stand. Here we have crimes not just against logic and good sense, but a violation of some of the core rules of this genre, in which we expect the villain to be defeated, in one sense or another, by the hero, and not to be rubbed out by his own incompetence as the hero lies groggy on the ground, felled by one of his allies. I’ll bet the writers think that this is ironic. It is not ironic. The introduction and then immediate solving of a problem in last year’s loathsome health insurance storyline was bad enough, but this is an abomination that cannot be so easily forgiven. I damn thee, Spider-Man! I damn thee to superhero hell in the name of the unwritten but well-understood contract between author and reader! Anathema, anathema!

Apartment 3-G, 9/7/06

Beer! Is there anything it can’t do? Beer looks like it’s about to get Tommie laid, which would make it the most powerful substance on earth.

Now, you and I both know that Tommie isn’t going to get laid, of course. No doubt right as Ted is about to make his drunken move, Lucy’s going to show up, begging for forgiveness, and either she’ll see the two of them together and further sitcom-style complications will ensue, or they’ll suddenly realize how foolish they’ve been and start macking right there in front of our poor forlorn redhead; or, even if Lucy stays in whatever adulterous love nest she’s been in for the past few months, Tommie will suddenly have an attack of righteousness and head on back to her cold, lonely bed in Apartment 3-G. So, no nookie for Tommie. But it won’t be beer’s fault.

Judge Parker, 9/7/06

Yeah, so I take back what I said before. I don’t think the glassy-eyed Abbey wants Raju to kiss her. I now think she’s just really, really high.

Pluggers, 9/7/06

So, you’re a Plugger if, uh, you’re forever haunted by the icy specter of death? Does Pluggers have any gears other than “smug” and “depressing?”

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Slylock Fox, 8/29/06

Ah, what a cute little game in which little kids can hone their powers of observation … and learn that adorable, tiny mice live in a world of constant fear, knowing that at any moment a powerful predator might swoop down out of the darkness and rip their frail bodies apart with its ravenous beak and razor-sharp claws, devouring them so quickly that they’re no doubt still alive as they slide down its gullet. By extension, kids also learn that the world is full of things that are powerful and threatening, and that they have no hopes of surviving in it, and so should just stay inside their safe, suburban homes, never taking risks or exploring, until eventually they graduate from college with no life skills or sense of wonder or adventure. Slylock Fox: Breeding a generation of weaklings since 1987.

Pluggers, 8/29/06

Stupid Plugger! There’s no porn in there!