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Dick Tracy, 7/5/06

I’m beginning to suspect that this Dick Tracy storyline is an extended apologia for the NSA’s warrantless wiretapping program; thus, it’s somewhat ironic that it brought up the subject of the U.S.’s secret monitoring of terrorist financial activities weeks before the New York Times did. Still, one begins to see their point: if our terrorists enemies are as dumb as Al Kinda here — who, while sitting in his Washington, D.C., office, changed from Western clothes into some sort of costume from a touring dinner-theater production of Sinbad the Sailor, and then greeted the entire al Qaeda network by name on his enormous wireless phone — then they probably won’t be smart enough to realize that they’re being spied on until they read about it in the liberal media.

Shoe, 7/5/06

Speaking of morons dressed in ridiculous outfits, here’s today’s Shoe. I have to admit that I’m charmed by the idea of some kind of Shakespearean method actor who refuses to change out of his costume, ever. Apparently, despite the fact that the vast majority of stage productions in this country feature contemporary characters dressed in essentially street clothes, the artist felt most Americans would fail to recognize Ye Olde Birde as an actor without this faux-Elizabethan getup, even though he utters the words “my” and “play” (in that order) in the first panel. This is a troubling assumption, but, sadly, it’s probably a safe one.

Mary Worth, 7/5/06

Ooh! Ooh! Mary Worth is being stalked! Mary Worth is being stalked! By, apparently, the world’s dumbest stalker, who appears to be standing approximately fifteen feet away from her and thinking, “Nobody can see me! Why, that branch is barely three feet above my head! I’M INVISIBLE! MOO HA HA HA!”

Oh, and: mustache, light hair — is our sinister fellow erstwhile Dawn Weston paramour/effette intellectual snob/violent rage addict Woody Hills? Dare to dream!

Slylock Fox, 7/5/06

I’m less interested in these so-called “facts” about peanut butter (no doubt supplied, along with a generous honorarium, out the deep pockets of the American Peanut Butter and Peanut Products Council) and more in the little tableau that accompanies them. From the look on the face of the groovy, hippie headbanded chick, she’s about to hit her breaking point. I’ll bet when she visualized her future as a young girl, it didn’t include dealing with a couple of buck-toothed freaks (are they brothers? father and son?) fighting over a condiment while she cleaned up after them. All I can say to Greedy McSandwicheater is that he’d better clean up those globs of peanut butter he’s spilled on the table, because that knife is temptingly close to his throat.

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For Better Or For Worse, 6/14/06

Oh, c’mon, Jim, forget this “dividing your ashes” stuff: why not just dig up Marian, bring her back to Ontario, get a place with Iris, and then: yowza! Posthumous three-way!

OK, that was in poor taste. But I had to do something to distract myself from Iris’ grim, death-like visage in the final panel. I mean, Jesus, it looks like she’s ready to drag him off to the underworld right now.

Family Circus, 6/14/06

Ignoring the weird jingoism of this panel for the moment, I have to ask: what the hell are these two watching? Is it the Pictures Of Rocks Against A Blank Background With A Little Folded Index Card For A Label Channel? The ticker across the top of the screen would seem to indicate that they’re watching a cable news station of some sort, but surely there’s an attractive white woman missing somewhere that could preempt this crap.

Anyway, Billy, you just wait until Operation Martian Freedom is launched sometime in late 2007. Then you could can buy your space rocks without adding to America’s trading deficit, because we’ll own Mars’ shiny red space ass.

Shoe, 6/14/06

Holy crap, did the crazy roller-skating bird from Shoe just get propositioned? I’m so stunned by this development that I can’t even work up the energy to feel sorry for him because he screwed it up.

Get Fuzzy, 6/14/06

See, this is why we all love Satchel. Because when he wants you to be appear on a game show that he invents, he hand-delivers a formal invitation. In a sealed envelope.

I’m intrigued by Rob’s claim to be a “grown-up.” I’m not convinced, based on the evidence I’ve seen.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 6/14/06

TDIET takes time out from its usual fare — which is to say the insane, petty rantings of octogenarians — to illuminate the deep structural problems in America’s health care system. This is material so politically charged that usually only Rex Morgan dares to handle it, but TDIET discusses the crisis in its own trademark fashion: by ending with “Oh, yeah!”

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Shoe, 5/31/06

Let’s pretend, for the sake of argument, that the “joke” emanating from the TV set in this comic is funny and worth publishing in newspapers around the country. Does it add anything to American life to have said joke presented in comic strip format, with the bleary-eyed Perfessor staring at it expressionlessly from his easy chair? Why not jettison the cartoon aspect altogether and just have a feature called “Jokes We’ve Heard”, where amiable fellows share little riddles and bon mots from their repertoires with readers, eliminating the need to do all that tedious drawing? That’d be much easier.

Unless … the joke is that the Perfessor has had a massive heart attack hours before, and that, while he’s watching this funeral ad, he’s actually dead. Now that’d be funny. No, wait, actually, it wouldn’t, but at least there’d be a point to it.

Slylock Fox, 5/31/06

5) Undead fiends stalk the night, desperately thirsty for the blood of the living! (Answer: All too true!)

Remember when vampires had huge mountaintop castles in the Balkans and mysterious magical carriages to carry them and their victims to and fro? Whereas now they apparently have to take the bus with the rest of the puds. Jeez, vampires are losers.