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Curtis, 11/9/09

This may not be interesting to anybody else (though really, what’s the point of having a blog if you can’t write about things that aren’t interesting to anybody else?), but I was sort of intrigued by Curtis’s father describing The Day After Tomorrow as a “Dennis Quaid movie.” I mean, yes, Quaid got top billing, but the film featured an ensemble cast, and you certainly wouldn’t call it a Dennis Quaid vehicle. It got me wondering whether films with large casts jockeying for screentime aren’t sort of Rorschach tests, with people seeing as most prominent the actor with whom they have the most in common. So, whereas middle-aged dad Greg Wilkins might call the film a Dennis Quaid movie, younger adults might consider it a Jake Gyllenhaal flick, whereas short sixtysomething Brits would identify it as an Ian Holm film. (As a believer in the auteur theory, I’d call it a Roland Emmerich movie myself, and who else is going out on opening day with me to see 2012, the latest from history’s greatest artiste of delightful computer-generated mass destruction? Anyone? Anyone?)

Getting back to the comic, I’m sort of amused by Curtis’s “Um, yeah” in panel three. “Dad, The Day After Tomorrow was a huge Hollywood blockbuster with an enormous marketing budget, so obviously I saw it. I’m the film industry’s perfect consumer! It’s like they grew me in a lab!”

Shoe, 11/9/09

Have you ever noticed that virtually all of Shoe’s distasteful romantic interludes are depicted as occurring in bars? I’m not just talking about the creepy courtship; even the sort of relationship talks that you’d expect to take place at home, or in the car, or in one of the more secluded booths at Pizza Hut, or really just somewhere that provides a little privacy, are instead aired out with Shoe and some interchangeable member of his cast of soul-deadened lady birds bellied up to the same bar where they presumably first set bleary, bloodshot eyes on one another. It leads one to believe each partner has someone or something at home that much be kept in the dark (e.g., children, spouse) or kept secret (e.g., porn collection, spouse) about/from the other. The logical conclusion is that the entire duration of these ephemeral relationships takes place at smoke-filled watering holes, with the drunken lovers hopefully retiring to the backseat of one of their cars to get it on rather than taking up a valuable toilet stall in the men’s room.

Marvin, 11/9/09

In somehow even more distasteful romantic news, today we learn what odor Marvin finds sexually arousing: the unguent one has smeared on one’s nether parts to soothe rashes caused by sitting in one’s own urine or feces for extended periods of time.

Marmaduke, 11/9/09

Hey, lady, don’t try to impose your square heteronormality on Marmaduke! Unfettered by humanity’s hang-ups, he’s free in his polymorphously perverse state to flirt with either the carefully groomed poodle or the big butch terrier, or both, whatever strikes his fancy. And anyway, this being Marmaduke, he’s probably not planning to “flirt with” anyone so much as to “kill and eat” them.

Funky Winkerbean, 11/9/09

Meanwhile, Wally Winkerbean, his life torn apart by a cruel twist of fate and his mind tortured by traumatic brain injury and PTSD, has decided to drink himself to death. Gonna be a fun week!

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Gil Thorp, 11/6/09

Yes, it’s “that time” over in prison, that time for something that we can’t really see that well because the ring of prisoners, eager for some kind of diversion from their banal minimum-security lives, is blocking our view. Is it a good old-fashioned prison fight with improvised weapons, or good old-fashioned situational homosexuality? Either way, Gil seems to have found out about it in mid-practice, somehow. “Say, Duncan, do you know there’s this awesome Web site that’s just all streaming video footage from prisons, all the time? And that the school’s Wi-Fi network reaches all the way out here to the practice fields? Anyway, long story short, your brother got stabbed to death with a fork.”

Luann, 11/6/09

“You know what, TJ? I’m 23 years old, I’m a firefighter, I saved Toni’s life by letting her fall on me. If I want to stand outside the bathroom door and masturbate while she poops, I’m allowed to! Whose parents own this house, anyway?”

TJ seems to have been recruited by Brad’s parents to prevent illicit Brad-Toni coupling, and he’ll need all of his abstinence-promotion skills to complete that mission.

Shoe, 11/6/09

“OK, Skyler, it’s about time we had a little talk. You’re getting older now, and you should know … that … you’re a bird. As am I. We’re all birds. I know we wear clothes and have jobs and go to school, so you probably thought that we’re people, but, no: birds. Are there bees out there that are similarly anthropomorphized? Seems unlikely to me, but in a world of freaky suit-wearing coffee-drinking bird-people, anything’s possible, right? Anyway, you might want to keep a lookout for bee-people. I was going to text this to you, but then I remembered that I don’t really have hands, so that would be difficult.”

Zits, 11/6/09

The weird naked degenitaled characters in Love Is: creepy.

Jeremy and Sara’s heads superimposed on said weird naked degenitaled bodies: creepier.

Jeremy grinning widely has he holds his camera just inches from Love Is-ified Sara’s naked upraised ass: That, my friends, is unspeakable perversion Friday.

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Slylock Fox, 9/14/09

Longtime readers of Slylock Fox have long wondered at the nature of the judiciary in this realm of bipedal sentient animals. While this locality is equipped with a serviceable mostly-canine police force, there seems to be little regard for the constitutional rights of men or beasts, and Slylock Fox himself, while not obviously affiliated with the law enforcement apparatus in any institutional way, is permitted to imprison and convict suspects merely on the strength his own flimsy deductions. Today, we learn the truth: all the action in this strip takes place in some kind of despotic absolute monarchy, ruled over by Princess Pussycat’s iron fist, with Slylock as her chief and unquestioning Inquisitor, the Darth Vader to her Emperor Palpatine. Moreover, though the Princess is called “pussycat,” her fur/skin is a bright red not seen on any natural feline, leading me to the conclusion that she is an actual hell-demon, controlling her subjects with her devilish supernatural powers; she’s probably the one responsible for transforming them into terrible hybrid beast-men in the first place.

Today’s transgressor against Her Satanic Majesty is wearing the all-black uniform and sunglasses that indicate that he was actually a member of her feared secret police. Perhaps the temptation of selling her devil-gold was too much, or perhaps he finally had had enough and was planning to strike a blow against his evil overlord by disposing of one of her symbols of power. Either way, in short order Princess Pussycat’s palace attendant is going to demonstrate that the enormous axe he carries as part of his uniform is not ceremonial. Still, you have to admire Rodney’s chutzpah; even in the face of summary execution, he’s still offering a jaunty double thumbs-up and a Fonzie-style “Aaaayyyy.”

Funky Winkerbean, 9/14/09

Hold up, what … what is the deal with dude’s thighs in panel three? They’re all lumpy and misshapen, and not in proportion to the rest of him. It’s like he’s hiding a couple of hams in his pants, for the winter.

Oh, and also, people opposed to cancer and death played as spectacle are pin-headed philistines. Pin-headed philistines with weirdly misshapen thighs.

Spider-Man, 9/14/09

Today’s strip offers another entertaining moment in Spidey-Dimness, as Peter Parker reveals his total unfamiliarity with the concept of metaphors. “MJ, this is no time for confusing talk about meteorology! I’m busy whining about my constant failure!”

Shoe, 9/14/09

Once again Shoe’s patented Goggle-Eyed Reaction Shot Of Soul-Scraping Horror is right on target, as our mechanic instantly notices that, once the Perfesser’s inevitable slide into poverty reaches the point of homelessness, he’s planning on living in his car by himself. Where will his young ward Skyler be in this scenario? Presumably he’ll have long since been delivered to the Shoe-world’s equivalent of an orphanage, which, since everyone there is a bird, is probably an agro-industrial facility that processes low-grade poultry into soup stock.