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Gil Thorp, 12/12/11

Oh, man, is this winter’s Gil Thorp plot really going to be about vaguely shady tattoo artists who give tattoos to minors, which may or may not be illegal, depending on what state Milford is supposed to be in? Actually, more than the applicable laws and tattoo parlor licensure guidelines, I’m more concerned about our tattooists’ terribly ill-conceived marketing strategy. In my experience, the last people who want to emulate teen fashion are twentysomethings, since they were teenagers themselves relatively recently and are quite busy fashioning themselves as cool adults and have zero interest in being mistaken for some dumb kid in high school. No, you really have to be well into your forties before it seems like a good idea to recapture your youth by getting a tattoo at a place recommended by your 16-year-old nephew.

On the bright side, when Soul Patch and Facial Tattoo are engaging in evil plotting, they’re taking panel time away from Gil and Kaz blathering on about how they need more depth at guard or whatever.

Spider-Man, 12/12/11

I’ve always assumed the one of the main purposes of the newspaper Spider-Man comic strip is to remind newspaper readers that Spider-Man and other Marvel properties exist, and have adventures in various media formats, and that you can enjoy those adventures if you pay Marvel and its distribution partners money. But, considering the Thor movie came out in May and the DVD came out in September and we’re just now getting a Thor plot, it appears that the newspaper Spider-Man strip is just as incompetent at its job as its hero as it his.

Dick Tracy, 12/12/11

Flattop (or Putty Puss made up as Flattop, or whatever the hell is going on here) has moved from new wave ’80s hits back to the ’70s, as he now sings “Disco Inferno” while attempting to fill our hero with hot lead. I’m reassured that Dick is completely unfamiliar with the lyrics to these extremely popular song; it’s a well known fact that the music industry is dominated by communists and degenerates, and it’s best to avoid the radio altogether as a result.

Six Chix, 12/12/11

I’m all in favor of composting and everything, but I do think this strip has hilariously captured the facial expression and body posture you’d expect from someone who just accidentally stuck her hand into a jar full of rotting garbage.

Slylock Fox, 12/12/11

Not gonna lie to you: My first guess was that the this mystery would hinge on some obscure fact about the urinary habits of alligators, and I was pretty disappointed when it didn’t.

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Slylock Fox, 11/12/11

I agree wholly with the lady in this cartoon: when confronted with something that tears a hole in your conception of reality, something whose very existence makes it clear that either the universe is profoundly different from what you’ve been led to believe or that you’ve descended into howling madness and will probably never get out — something like, say, a grinning, tongue-wagging, seven-foot-tall bipedal bear-dog thing sitting on your couch — I would almost certainly ignore it and hope very much that it went away. Yep, just hangin’ out right here on the sofa, next to the fur-covered demon-nightmare, which isn’t really there, you’re just reading the paper and drinking your coffee, and sitting way over here on the end of the couch, by choice, certainly not because some horror-beast is sitting there with you, because it isn’t. When it jostles you in the back, even gently, that’s when this strategy fails. That’s when you have to turn it around and look it in the eyes. Those huge, happy, soulless eyes. God have mercy on your soul.

Blondie, 11/12/11

As far as most readers are concerned, Dagwood’s life is impossibly charmed: the doting and gorgeous wife, the low-impact 9 to 5 job that allows him to nap most of the day in exchange for a little mild physical abuse, the ability to eat as much unhealthy food as he wants without ever seeming to gain a pound. It’s only occasionally that we get glimpses of the fact that he has larger dreams, and that he’s too scared to chase after them, and that his own cowardice is slowly killing him inside.

Apartment 3-G, 11/12/11

I’m sorry, modest in every way? Look at all that damn clavicle! What the hell kind of half-assed oppressive chastity cult is this?

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Slylock Fox, 11/7/11

Oh, Reeky! Foiled by the waiter’s clumsiness … and some dirty snitch who will be getting a Reeky-style ass-kicking as soon as Reeky can post bail, obviously. Still, you have to wonder if this little restaurant heist hasn’t compromised our rodent antihero’s dignity a little bit. Reeky normally styles his hair to show his contempt for society, whether he’s wearing it in a resplendent pompadour/mullet, or maybe just a shag dyed manic panic red. For this job at a snooty restaurant, though, he apparently feels compelled to shape his hair into some kind of hideous helmet, which is presumably the sort of haircut that he thinks would be worn by a respectable people, whom he views through a veil of seething class-based contempt. I dearly hope that his plan was to whip off this awful wig and let his true ’do cascade magnificently down his neck, right before he pulled out his gun and snarled out his demand that the assembled bougies start handing over their valuables.

Luann, 11/7/11

So, things have been happening in Luann, and I guess I’m supposed to be telling you about them? See, Toni physically threatened Brad’s boss and we’re supposed to like her and … no, wait, uh, see, Toni and Anne are jockeying for Brad’s sexual favors and … gah, no, um, Brad needs this minimum wage job at Weenie World to maintain his dignity, and … er, by which I mean, Anne is thrusting her breasts around because Brad is supposed to be desirable, I guess, and you know what? I can’t do it. Look up the archives if you really need the info, I can’t deal with it.

Judge Parker, 11/7/11

“The problem is she doesn’t have a boy, and the solution is that she’s buying one! It’s like you’re not even paying attention.”

Apartment 3-G, 11/7/11

Ha ha, Ruby’s swivel-headed look of horror in panel two is priceless. “Lu Ann, I’ve held my tongue about your pre-marital whoring because I know that’s how they do things in the big city, but I will not let the sanctity of wedding dress symbolism be violated! Your dress is champagne colored or I walk.“