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Apartment 3-G, 8/11/07

WOO-HOO, ALAN’S BEATNIK BUDDY IS BACK! If you don’t remember this bad-news countercultural type, check out his first appearance, from more than a year ago. Crazy kick! I don’t know if we knew before today that his name was “Jones,” though. I wonder if this fellow is actually the Archie gang’s resident nonconformist, Jughead Jones, all grown up, who’s traded his first name and his felt crown for a soul patch and a gig dealing weed (“good”) and smack (“bad”).

Momma, 8/11/07

I was going to write a screed about how if you weren’t a dedicated Momma reader, you wouldn’t get the “joke” of today’s strip, which is that Francis doesn’t really have a steady job and so “getting up and going to work” probably means putting in applications or working at one of his various menial but otherwise not particularly stressful jobs and that based on the level of dishevelment in his hovel, you might assume that he did literally work in a salt mine, albeit one with complimentary wake-up calls, and that furthermore this meant that nobody would get the “joke” in today’s Momma because there was no such thing as a dedicated Momma reader, but then I realized that I was a dedicated Momma reader and that I got the “joke” (keeping in mind that “getting” is not the same as “being amused by”). Then I was sad.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/11/07

Good news, everyone! Hugh’s conscious and his histrionics levels are back to normal!

Judge Parker, 8/11/07

All right, Judge Parker, you’ve been waving those things around all week trying to get my attention, so here it is: boobs. BOOBS. Boobs boobily boobs boob. BOOBS. Are you happy now?

Mark Trail, 8/11/07

Speaking of boobs: You’d think that Sam, who’s been through a lot with Mark, would take the lead in thanking him for his help in saving this small-town airport, which help mostly took the form of violence and threats of the same, but it’s her dad who’s doing all the jawing here. Still, in panel three it does sort of appear that she’s about to thank him … visually.

And now, a little something for the ladies…

Gil Thorp, 8/11/07

Legitimate questions were raised about whether yesterday’s crotchtastic Gil Thorp was really as crotchy as all that, or if it was perhaps just the view through Bill Ritter’s boxing gloves. There’s really no doubt today, though. No, sir. That’s quite the crotch shot. Yep.

By the way, if Bill were holding a pack of cigarettes and wearing chaps, panel three would look uncannily like an enormous Marlboro billboard that loomed a mere two blocks from my high school when I was a kid, I swear to God.

The Lockhorns, 8/11/07

Ha! It’s funny because Leroy has a crippling problem with alcohol! Funny!

Beetle Bailey, 8/11/07

Ha! It’s funny because General Halftrack has a crippling problem with alcohol, and is so drunk that he’s managed to intoxicate his golf ball, in defiance of all the laws of biology and physics! Funny!

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Mary Worth and Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/28/07

Maternal visit or no, I certainly could not let these two explosive comics from Saturday go unremarked. I’d urge you to try to reproduce the bizarre angles of Drew and Dawn’s approach in panel two at home, but you might then be tempted to photograph it and send me a picture, the prospect of which makes me distinctly uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure the lines of radiance represent the aura experienced by epileptics just before a seizure, because that’s the only reasonably explanation for the awkward poses and facial expressions of otherworldly detachment from reality.

Meanwhile, in Rex Morgan, M.D., stuff (and here I mean “stuff” U English sense to mean woolen fabric, specifically the woolen fabric in the very U Hugh’s suit) blows up. Even more exciting than that, though, is seeing June say, “Did he grovel for you like he did for me?” That very well could have triggered the explosion — the explosion of sexiness.

Beetle Bailey and Hi and Lois, 7/28/07

Meanwhile, although I’m usually left cold by golf jokes (and WE GET IT CARTOONISTS YOU’D RATHER BE GOLFING THAN DRAWING FUNNY PICTURES) and Beetle Bailey generally, I have to admit that Saturday’s Beetle Bailey golf joke actually made me laugh aloud. I do wonder why Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC doesn’t have team meetings once a week to prevent this kind of overlap, though.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 7/28/07

And once again TDIET is Curmudgeon-inspired! Gabe Owens is in fact faithful reader Gabe. Since Gabe is in the Navy, this cartoon could have featured some epically outdated uniforms and insignia, possible from World War I, but I guess that’s Beetle Bailey territory; when you’re in a TDIET, you toil away in a generic Eisenhower-era office and you like it, buddy. Gabe has used his real name (and rank? I thought MC2 was some variation on “Master Chief”, but I couldn’t find any evidence to that effect online; maybe it’s his rap name?), so he’d better hope that having “The Urge” isn’t a court-martialable offense.

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Beetle Bailey, 7/25/07

All day, people have been commenting in varying degrees of arousal about the hot, hot Miss Buxley action in today’s Beetle Bailey. All I can say is: why? The Walker oeurvre is one of the funny pages’ more stylized, and there are few less detailed or realistic looking “sexy” women in comics than General Halftrack’s oft-harassed secretary. Seriously, if this was all it took to get me worked up, I’d just draw a stick figure and slap some boobs on it and WHAM! Instant porn. Even the theoretically sexy frilly unmentionables are terribly botched, with Buxley’s brassiere seemingly wrapped around her robe, implying that either that the artist has little grasp of spatial relations and/or undergarment topography, or that she’s dressing quickly because she’s aware of the series of hidden cameras the general has stashed all over her apartment and wired up to the phone somehow.

The less said about whatever’s in her robe pocket, the better. Is it a hot glue gun? Or something more untoward There’s something about its crap-brown color that unsettles me.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/25/07

Now, Heather Avery — that’s a cartoon character whose sex appeal I can endorse. I don’t even care about those little droopy devil horn things on the front of her head, which indicate that she’s probably a succubus in addition to being a gold-digging nanny and stock-manipulating white-collar co-conspirator.

This whole encounter is more than a little porntastic. “Hugh … what is it? I’m getting dressed — and since I’m already in the process of removing my robe, surely it’s unrealistic to expect me to close it again now that it’s half-way open, since I’ll just be taking it off completely in a few minutes. Can’t it wait? The robe-closing, I mean.” Of course, since there’s no blood relation between the two of them and they’ve only met the previous day, there’s nothing untoward or incestuous about the prospect of them falling into each other’s arms for comfort in the wake of their great loss — or at least there wouldn’t be if they didn’t essentially look exactly alike. Even Von and Vera, Mary Worth’s creepy Flowers in the Attic pair, didn’t share this much of a resemblance. Of course, this has less bearing on any potential Heather-Hugh match-up and much more bearing on Milton’s now-revealed-to-be-deeply-disturbing attraction to Heather.

Dennis the Menace, 7/25/07

Lucky for Ruff the Mitchell’s floor is covered with a healthy layer of rotting organic matter! Of course, we can’t blame Alice for the unhygienic state of the house: Henry forces her to wear those killer stilettos at all times, so she can barely walk; I don’t know how you expect her to operate a vacuum cleaner.