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Rex Morgan, M.D., 4/3/09

HEY EVERYONE JUNE MORGAN IS IN HER BIKINI! HOT! HUBBA HUBBA WOO HOO OK, look. Doubt my credentials as a heterosexual comic-loving man if you must, but I simply cannot get myself worked up over drawings of sexy ladies. I mean, sexy ladies are intriguing to me as a rule, but when it comes to cartoons, it’s hard for me to forget that someone, somewhere, generally a dude, was drawing said sexy lady, and usually thinking, “Hmm, I’ve seen sexy ladies in real life, but with the powers of my artistry, I can add even more sexiness!” Which in practice usually means “I can make her boobs even bigger!”

I don’t pretend to be consistent on this point. For instance, it’s well known that I have certain … feelings for Margo Magee. And Margo is nice enough to look at, but my feelings are primarily driven by the fact that she’s a hilarious, tightly-wound bag of angry crazy, which is the sort of thing I’ve been known to go for in the past. And while Margo’s wonderfully antisocial personality is as much a fictional construct as, say, Abbey Spencer’s ass crack, somehow it’s much harder for me to ignore the artifice involved in the construction of the latter.

And speaking of artifice … I’m not a professional breastologist or anything, but I’m pretty sure that one’s cleavage does not consist of two perfect and slightly separated semi-circles if one’s bosom is the one that God gave you. Having a surgically enhanced cartoon fantasy object strikes me as particularly bizarre and off-putting, to be sure, but what I really want to know is: whose work are we looking at here? Certainly not Rex’s; breast-enhancement surgery can take hours, and that’s much longer than he’d ever want to spend touching a girl’s boobies.

Blondie, 4/3/09

Blondie comments on the current economic crisis: the unemployed masses, their lives destroyed by the decisions of the powerful, weep openly in the street, just outside the fine restaurants where the captains of industry who got us into this mess dine on gourmet foods, served on china plates and fine tablecloths. The workers who are still employed sit by uncomfortably, afraid to protest at the injustice for fear of joining the starving hysterics in the gutter, wracked with shame over their collaboration in their own oppression.

Dennis the Menace, 4/3/09

Hey, Mr. Wilson, it’s the government that publicizes the names and addresses of sex offenders, not the television stations. But I admit that when they ran that picture of your house with the caption “PERVERTS IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD” as the lead story on the 6 o’clock news, that was a little much.

Pluggers, 4/3/09

You’re a plugger if you euphemistically refer to an anonymous sex party as “league bowling.” (The rest of us call it “book club.”)

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/10/09

OK, I’m sure I’m going to get all sorts of comments and emails from doctors and other medical personnel (and from the developers of medical-themed Web sites) about how the Internet is going to revolutionize medicine and replace those huge, hard-to-read medical textbooks and not every doctor holds all information about all diseases in his head at all times and blah blah blah, but … I find panel two, in which Rex makes his serious face and declares that he’ll be solving this medical crisis with the help of the Internet, to be kind of funny. I guess I mostly associate the intersection of the Web and medical diagnoses with people posting things like “how can u tell if u have siphalis?” to Yahoo! Answers and/or hypochondriacs spending ten minutes with WebMD and coming away convinced their sore throat is esophageal cancer. I’m all the more skeptical because the weaselly little ship’s doctor is blatantly coming down with Norwalk himself right before our eyes, while all Rex can do is stand around and look concerned in a manly way while he reaches for any excuse to get down to the ship’s computer lab and start his intensive search for barely legal Ukrainian soldier-boy porn.

Marvin, 3/10/09

“Oh, excellent! I’ve just constructed a delightful little joke that based on two complementary concepts, ‘work’ and ‘play’! Except … it’s possible that the rubes who read this strip won’t pick up on my subtle wordplay. How can I make things a bit more obvious? I know … now, where did I put that bold font?”

Family Circus, 3/10/09

Berating your baby brother is all good fun, Jeffy, but you’d better watch yourself: it looks like PJ’s time as the only member of the Keane Klan who doesn’t know how to punch you in the face is about to end just … about … now.

Apartment 3-G, 3/10/09

OMG MOMENTOUS MOMENT! Margo’s father finally appears in the strip! And he looks … uh … pretty much like every other dude who has appeared in Apartment 3-G, ever. Huh. Whee.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/3/09

So, obviously, the current Rex Morgan, M.D., storyline became boring to me once it stopped being about hot barely closeted nautical action and instead turned into something about, I dunno, medicine-y stuff. Still, I am charmed by this old Mrs. Dunsmore, who is apparently British, and her imperial nostalgia. “Yes, if there’s one group that knows how to run a quarantine, it’s the Brits! Comes from being an island people, you see. We’ll be kept just off shore by polite and heavily armed guards, and occasionally be airlifted crates of digestive biscuits and blood pudding to eat; if the virus rages out of control, of course, they’ll just set the boat on fire with all of us still on it, nodding their heads sagely as we scream for mercy and saying ‘Bit of a sticky wicket, eh wot? Still, had to be done, I suppose. Say, d’you think we have time to catch the Test Match?'”

Pluggers, 3/3/09

Though pluggers are incapable of adequately planning ahead for retirement, their suicide preparations are remarkably meticulous.

Family Circus, 3/3/09

BITE, PJ! DO IT! BITE BITE BITE!