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Marvin, 1/22/09

If there’s one thing that Marvin does well repeatedly, it’s come up with some labor-saving gimmick joke that can serve as a template for multiple days worth of material. We all remember the week of pure horror that was “Belly Laffs,” in which each new day proved just how not-funny a joke about women gaining weight when they’re pregnant can get. If there’s anything to console us during this cryspace.com nightmare, it’s that we started in the middle of the week, which means that we have at most two more days of this left.

Also, as a red-headed American, I resent the implication that the lady gingers need to bill themselves as blondes in order to increase their sex appeal. Nobody can dispute the attractiveness of redheads, people! And as a human being with a shred of decency, I am disgusted by the idea of a baby making her profile sexy, what the hell, this is monstrous beyond description.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/22/09

Little Sarah has always been a precocious child, and that, combined with the affluent upbringing her father’s medical practice has provided, may be bringing her down a very dark path, as she seems extremely intrigued by the prospect of joining this wizened alcoholic aristocrat in hunting a wily urchin for sport. “Come, child, let me tell you about the thrills of the most dangerous game!”

Apartment 3-G, 1/22/09

Some people have doubted whether Margo is really as awe-inspiring and terrifying as all that. All I can say is that if any roommate of mine had left me a list of imperative mood verbs like the one seen here, I’d respond less with a resigned sigh and more with a string of obscenities. Either Margo really can kill with her mind, or the surreptitious, never-talked-about sex must be amazing.

Marmaduke, 1/22/09

“Howling at the moon,” ha! Marmaduke is actually summoning his demonic Master to appear and accept the blood sacrifice of these two innocents. Naturally, Marmaduke will carry out this sacrifice himself.

Momma, 1/22/09

Ha ha, Momma called her daughter a tramp! A tramp wearing a tiny, tiny lampshade as a hat.

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Gil Thorp, 1/10/09

You may have noticed that I haven’t really commented on Gil Thorp lately; that’s because this storyline, which began with Nut Boy and armed robbery, has turned out to be total snoresville ever since. Today’s strip is noteworthy, though, in that it contains shocking images of Gil Thorp engaging in coaching — not in the usual sense of him holding a clipboard and collecting a paycheck in the general vicinity of high school athletics, but actually attempting to help a member of his basketball team with his play. Gil’s advice — “relax, you’ll be fine, and everyone else we have sucks even worse than you” — leaves a bit to be desired, I suppose, but it’s a start.

Meanwhile, the thirty-first participant in Brenda’s all-weekend sexathon has arrived.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/10/09

What I’m learning from this Rex Morgan storyline — in which the bored, angry passengers on this strike-stricken death boat are constantly demanding that somebody, anybody pour them a drink — is that the only thing stopping most cruise ships from degenerating into vomit-covered bacchanals are crewmembers trained in the fine art of cutting the lushes off gently. Hope for the livers of all involved has arrived in the form of this friendly off-duty bartender, who probably recognizes the symptoms of alcohol poisoning when he sees them and will start watering the drinks down accordingly. (As a side note, you may think it odd that a bartender would consider a navy blue suit and sharp red tie to be cruisewear, but one of the guys who bartended my wedding was an investment banker, so you never know.)

Lockhorns, 1/10/09

I must admit that I’m charmed by the evocative setting of today’s Lockhorns. Leroy and his nameless, emotionally numb companion are just alighting from the commuter train, heading into work on a chilly morning, carrying their briefcases and coffees. We’ve never really learned what Leroy does for a living; whatever it is, it apparently requires that he wear a baby blue smock for some reason.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/10/09

Snuffy Smith makes yet another acknowledgement of modern televised entertainment; however, this reference serves only to set up the main joke, which is that Hootin’ Holler’s sole religious institution apparently exists primarily to personally enrich its so-called “parson,” who cheerfully admits as much to one of the community’s most notorious lawbreakers.

Pluggers, 1/10/09

Pluggers redirect their suppressed sexual feelings towards their enormous, gas-guzzling cars.

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Hello, everybody! I’m back from my long journey northeastward, re-ensconced in my Baltimore lair, and ready for more comics mockery in 2009! I hope you all had good holiday celebrations of your choice. The question arises, as it does every year, as to just what soap strip offered the weirdest holiday greeting on Christmas day. The contenders:

Mary Worth, 12/25/08

Mary Worth shoehorned in a barely-readable one-line bit of good cheer into the second panel. This served as a depressing counterpoint to Mary’s turn as good cop to Frank’s bad cop in the determined effort to Keep Lynn Skating No Matter What.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/25/08

Rex Morgan, M.D., served up a heartfelt tribute to our troops serving overseas, a vanishingly small percentage of whom have the time or inclination to read Rex Morgan, M.D. Is that supposed to be Rex in the Santa hat in panel one, and if so, why is he so grim-faced? Shouldn’t the presence of all that hot man-meat in uniform cheer him up, just a little?

Gasoline Alley, 12/25/08

And finally, Gasoline Alley published an excellent template of a nice design that you can get tattooed across your chest or shoulders if you join a particularly festive and holiday-oriented gang.

But the real present came a couple of days later:

Mark Trail, 12/27/08

You know, too few vigilantes are willing to go the extra mile anymore by shouting “SURPRISE!” at their bearded prey while tackling them. The world is poorer for the loss of those sorts of details.

And hey, I’d be remiss if I ignored BIG DOINGS AFOOT IN SPIDER-MAN LAND!

Spider-Man, 12/31/08-1/1/09

OH MY GOODNESS WHAT COULD THE BIG CHANGES THIS WALL OF TEXT HAS PROMISED US BE??? Instead of watching TV and whining to his wife about how much money she makes, Peter is sleeping in and letting his aged aunt cater to his every need. SO THRILLING!!! I seem to recall some sort of thing in the Spidey comic books involving MJ and … a deal with the devil? Maybe? So they got retroactively satanic-divorced or something? I don’t actually read the Spider-Man comic books, but I recall a lot of people complaining about it, so I hope that bringing this thrilling plot development to the Spider-Man newspaper strip manages to make said comic strip even lamer, in ways I never dreamed possible.

Unlike Spider-Man, I promise you exactly nothing new for 2009. I’ve pretty much figured out my thing and you’ll keep reading it and liking it! As long as they still print newspapers and still print comic strips in those newspaper, I’ll be here, so, if current trends hold true, you should have a good 18 months of this site left to enjoy.

Oh, and finally: my site has been nominated for the Best Humor Blog category at the Weblog Awards! Holy crap! Don’t worry, I’ll be plastering links everywhere when voting starts in a few days. And Ces Marciuliano’s Medium Large was similarly nominated in the Best Comic Strip categories. Stretch your ballot-stuffing muscles!