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B.C., 1/12/07

I … I thought B.C. was funny today, kinda. It made me laugh.

I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future.

Judge Parker, 1/12/07

So in between the “Randy Parker gay election smear” storyline and the “Abbey attempts to stop Neddy from going wild in Paris” storyline, Judge Parker’s been giving us little glimpses of this “Old biddy’s butler is sick so she hires a temp butler” storyline, which, I think, hooks up with the others because the old biddy is in Paris and is somehow a relative of Abbey and/or Neddy and will be the sexy twosome’s hostess in the City of Light. Anyway, I’ve been pretty amused by the whole idea of a butler temp agency — believe me, having worked on and off as an office temp to make extra cash while I was in grad school, standing stone-faced at attention awaiting the orders of some septuagenarian aristocrat would probably be more enjoyable than, say, calling a list of phone numbers to make sure they were still fax lines and hearing that horrible SCREEEEEEE every time — but my amusement ground to a halt when I saw the horrifying, soulless visage of “Mr. Hart” in panel three. At best, he’s a cybernetic automaton, impersonating a human for some mysterious purpose; at worst, he’s a demon from below hell, sent to reap the souls of all concerned. Plus, he’s Canadian, so: super scary.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/12/07

Yeah, Niki, you did the “right thing” by calling June. That Elvis was probably going to take you for a “ride.” He’s one shady “character.” He probably … what? Oh, there’s someone here who wants to talk to you:

Margo! Do you kiss your comical immigrant mother with that mouth? I … I can’t control her, folks, I’m sorry.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 1/12/07

What it’s like to be me: I just spent ten minutes staring at this panel trying to figure out if this is the first ever black person in TDIET. Whatever the case, her butt is disproportionately and disturbingly large.

Pluggers, 1/12/07

Plugger refrigerators are full of sexual predators.

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Beetle Bailey, 1/10/07

I’m sorry, Beetle Bailey, I think you misunderstood me. I said your lame jokes make me want to vomit, not that I’d like to hear some lame jokes about vomit.

This may be the most disgusting Beetle Bailey ever, which is saying a lot in a strip that focuses so heavily on the Halftracks’ sex life. Still, I have an unaccountable urge to try to make some sort of sense of it. Are we meant to understand that:

• Gen. Halftrack was so literally sickened by Lt. Fuzz’s by-the-book, all-school-smarts-no-street-smarts, over-footnoted, armchair-general report that he registered disgust the way a real man’s man would: by emptying the contents of his stomach onto it?
• Gen. Halftrack read the report and was so shocked by how out-of-touch he (the General) was from the realities on the ground, both in Camp Swampy and in the unravelling military situation overseas, that he vomited on the report in terror?
• Gen. Halftrack was very, very drunk?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/10/07

I can’t even begin to tell you how disturbing I find the third panel of Rex Morgan, M.D., here. I know intellectually that Elvis is supposed to be in a shadow … a shadow that denotes his own sinister nature. But he sure looks like he’s wearing a ski mask — or, God help me, a leather gimp mask. Since Gruff But Kindly Landlady Lady knows exactly who this chump is, the only possible reason Elvis would have for putting such a thing on would be to up the squick factor. (Actually, Mrs. C. just offered another possibility: “‘Scuse me if I wear my ski mask while you get that … it’s cold out here in the hallway.”)

You’ll notice that I have not been following the antics of these meth-addled losers very closely of late. There comes a time in every RMMD plotline when my interest peaks, and it’s all downhill after that, no matter how many car chases and SWAT team shootouts ensue. In the Troy storyline, that point came during Rex and Troy’s Big Gay Golf game. In the the current plot, it came during June’s Mrs. Robinson/Mrs. Letourneau sequence with Niki. I realize that the last two sentences have really made me sound like a pervert, but I’m going to post them anyway.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/10/07

Yes, because if your mother works outside the home, you’ll turn out to be an emotionally crippled terrorist. Just like all the 9/11 terrorists, who came from countries with strong feminist movements and equal participation of women in the workforce. Welcome to 2007, everybody!

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Hi, everybody! I’m back at last. I see you’ve all been having fun in my absence (1270+ comments worth of fun!), but I’m rested and ready, if not tanned, and eager to get back in the blogging saddle.

So, how was your Christmas? Did it feel like it was brusquely shoehorned into someone else’s drama, as in Mary Worth?

Was everybody else busy and you had to get your holiday greetings from someone peripheral and random, à la Abbey the Wonderdog in Rex Morgan, M.D.?

Or were you fobbed off on some generic winter scene that had nothing to do with anyone you know or have even heard of, as in Judge Parker?

Or, perhaps worst of all, did you have to spend the week staring into the dead, soulless eyes of your hideous square-headed family, as in Gil Thorp?

OH FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, MAKE THEM STOP STARING AT ME! AAAHHHHHH!

Ahem. Anyhoo, not a whole lot of great interest to report in the comics, as they mostly treaded water during a low-readership week. The most action took place among the foobs, most of which was easily predicted and won’t be rehashed here. There were a few bright spots, though. Mark Trail featured this happy, non-beaver-slaughtering scene:

I don’t know what’s creepier: the chipper “Thanks for not killing the beavers!”, or the way daddy’s fondling that chicken leg.

Speaking of beavers, Barreto needs to get back to Judge Parker ASAP before Sophie turns into one permanently.

In non-beaver news, Mary Worth can pretend that she’s dreaming about her not-boyfriend, but thought balloons don’t lie: her main interest, as always, is herself.

And in Milford, we learn that the aesthetic requirements for “favorite couple” are shockingly low.

And! You may have missed your chance to give the gift of Comics Curmudgeon gear for Christmas, but Valentine’s Day is coming up! What better way to say “I love you” than a shirt bearing the crazed rantings of a drunk? Faithful reader Genetic Mishap, who designed this logo, here re-enacts this classic scene:

She also illustrates that the shirt also works when you’re not imitating comics characters:

Operators are standing by, so buy yours today!

Finally, let’s get the new year off on a good foot with a tacky joke about cancer:

Funky Winkerbean, 1/1/07

See, they totally set up a great Yul Brynner joke here and then completely failed to follow through with it.