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Cathy, 8/24/09

For most of mid-August, Cathy revolved around Irving’s Facebook-inspired loathing of his current haircut, followed by his intense anxiety about switching hairdressers, so his studied nonchalance upon actually getting a new ’do is deeply irritating, matched in that regard only by everything else that’s happened in Cathy ever. Fortunately, in the final panel, it appears that our put-upon stylist is planning to behead her annoying customer with her clippers.

Dick Tracy, 8/24/09

I’m pretty curious about the conversation that led up to today’s first panel of Dick Tracy, in which the creepy Mr. Pops attempts to explain to Dick the rudiments of his job description. “So, Mr. Pops, I noticed that when you and your similarly dressed cohorts were performing, the audience members’ mouths were pulled up at the corners, and they were expelling air from their lungs in a series of short, staccato bursts that sounded like ‘ha, ha’. More troubling still, in those moments they appeared to not be consumed by thoughts of torture and death. What sort of diabolical scheme is this?”

Slylock Fox, 8/24/09

This may be the first Slylock Fox mystery strip I’ve seen in which two humans interact with each other, and I’ve got to say that I find it very disturbing that Slylock is there to protect the property rights of a man who sells animals for a living. Despite all of his nosey police work, Slylock appears to be nothing more than an vulpine Uncle Tom, happy to buttress the institutions that enslave his fellow beasts! For shame, sir!

Also, seeing as Slick Smitty must be freakishly strong to be able to hold up a bag of water more than three feet in diameter, I certainly hope that Slylock’s human overlords trust him enough to arm him, or else this could get ugly.

Mary Worth, 8/24/09

“…but then Ian said something pompous that irritated some drunken hooligans, so, long story short, he got stabbed to death. Hey, is Charley Smith still single?”

Sigh. Sorry, Scotland, I don’t mean to make cruel jokes about your reputation as Britain’s knifecrime capital. It’s just that, while a Charterstone pool party is usually a happy occasion to me, the one getting underway here can only be a source of sadness, as it marks the definitive and anticlimactic end of the Charley-Delilah-Lawrence storyline, which was once so promising. Sure, we’ll always have that deliriously wonderful week in Charley’s love pad, but I can’t help but think that the strip could have reached even greater heights of entertaining insanity. Would Ian’s cruel, violent death at the hands of junk-sick thugs alleviate my ennui? Well, maybe a little.

Hi and Lois, 8/24/09

Speaking of Scotland, today’s Hi and Lois offers a particularly pathetic look into Hi’s inner life. Sure, it’s only natural that a guy would want to ditch out on his wife and family to go play golf among the stab-happy Scots — I mean, how can wives and families ever match up with golf, right? However, it appears that Hi’s reverie consists not of him actually taking a golf vacation, but rather of him telling his layabout neighbor that he wishes he could take a golf vacation. It’s a sad day when your fantasy life consists of turning down opportunities that really aren’t even that exciting in the first place.

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Slylock Fox, 8/9/09

Of all the unfairly persecuted victims in Slylock Fox, Count Weirdly is clearly the most unfairly persecuted. Gosh, he’s developed some sort of revolutionary hologram chamber than can create what appears to be real environments out of thin air, and Slylock is complaining that every detail isn’t perfect? What sort of anal-retentive jerk would insist that the world created in such a holochamber should mimic reality as closely as possible, anyway? If you want to see owls with regular claws, you can just go out into the woods. If you want to see owls with webbed feet, though, you’ll need to go pay $125 an hour to enter the Count Weirdly Total Fantasy Experience Capsule™. (FINE PRINT: Count Weirdly Total Fantasy Experience Capsule™ customers will be eaten by alligators.)

Family Circus, 8/9/09

My favorite part of this cartoon is Mommy’s disgruntled look, as she knows that she’ll be responsible for dealing with the aftermath of Daddy’s terrifying tales. “Who’s going to go down to the river and wash all this soiled underwear by hand?” “Not me!”

Mark Trail, 8/9/09

This strip seems like a desperate attempt to make amends for the spike in rabies treatments that resulted from last year’s insane “Sneaky the raccoon is a delightful pet” storyline. “Remember, kids, if you’re concerned about rabies, only allow non-rabid raccoons to live with you in your house! They’ll still hoard all of your shiny objects in a nest in your crawlspace and viciously scratch at your face if you try to take them back, though.”

Panels from Apartment 3-G, 8/9/09

“Yes, Cody, I’ll miss all the ‘rides’ with you. Oh, and the horse too. Once again, Margo’s problems mean enforced celibacy for everyone else!”

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Crankshaft, 7/20/09

Oh ho. Oh HO HO HO. Remember a few years ago, when beloved comic strip Funky Winkerbean killed off one of its main characters and then leapt pell-mell a decade into the future (of internal narrative space, not of absolute time)? Of course you do, because you’re all comics obsessives, but even if you weren’t, chances are you might have heard of it because there was actual coverage of this event by the legitimate media. And here today, in Funkyverse sister strip Crankshaft, we appear to have the exact same chronological discontinuity happening, which, as near as the Google can tell, has been mentioned exactly nowhere. Ha ha, Crankshaft, nobody likes you, just like nobody likes your title character!

You’ll forgive me for chortling just a little at the sight of Crankshaft’s slumped, broken form slouching semi-consciously in a wheelchair, kept alive by machines and underpaid but still perky nurse’s aides. Normally I’d only have the deepest sympathy for someone whose body and mind have been ravaged by time until they’re only a shell of their former self, but since Crankshaft is (a) a fictional character and (b) a colossal dick, I’m not feeling too guilty about my terrible glee.

Anyway, in the absence of any sort of Big Event-style coverage, I’m guessing that this is a temporary thing, a brief glimpse into the ’Shaft’s terrible future — or, if the middle panel is any indication, his future and his past, like Slaughterhouse Five with less firebombing and more groan-inducing puns. Eventually we’ll settle back on the present, in which Crankshaft is old and cranky but not senile or wheelchair-ridden. The journey will have made him more sympathetic to us, right up to the first time that he opens his mouth.

Gil Thorp, 7/20/09

Wait, are we sure that Shep Trumbo isn’t behind this? Because the sinister message on that baseball appears to be written in text-speak, and if there’s one thing I remember about the Shep Trumbo storyline despite my best efforts to purge it from my memory, it’s that it involved texting in some way. (Though I guess a full-on text-stalker-ball would read “U O M3.”)

Anyway, I just thought of someone else from the past who could be sinisterly stalking Gil: Brent Raptor! Or, better yet, Brent Raptor’s mom! Brent was a pudgy white kid who played baseball for Gil a few years ago and loved the rap music, thus earning the nickname “Rap-Dog,” which was probably meant to be insulting and/or ironic but he adopted it because it was the only affection anyone ever showed him. Brent’s life was made a living hell by his trashy, overbearing mother, out from under whose thumb Gil tried very hard to extract Brent, eventually succeeding by arranging for her to take a trip to Phoenix (really!). Anyway, since obviously nobody has ever done anything in return for a trip to Phoenix, I’m guessing Gil made a dark, secret promise to Mrs. Raptor, and now she’s come to collect … in blood. Or in off-brand corn chips and menthol cigarettes, which would seem more her style.

Mark Trail, 7/20/09

Jack Elrod knew he’d come under fire from religious and cultural conservatives for his latest work, Virgin Mar(k/y): Pieta. Fortunately, his editors at the syndicate knew that the newspaper comics were the last venue where uncompromising art like this could be showcased, and published it without fear of the consequences.

Archie, 7/20/09

The funniest thing about this Archie — other than Reggie getting punched in the face, obviously — is the lava lamp decorating the floor of Archie’s makeshift ashram in the first panel. Because meditation = the ’70s = lava lamps, obviously! Ha ha, the AJGLU 3000 has no idea what year it is.

Slylock Fox, 7/20/09

More proof that Shady Shrew is an unlovable loser: as his yellow bandana indicates, he was considered insufficiently cool to join either the Bloods or the Crips, and instead had to affiliate himself with a lesser gang, the “7th Avenue Insectivore Crew.”

Beetle Bailey, 7/20/09

Oh, Beetle, we know you yearn for Sarge’s abusive attentions, but you should really try being at least a little subtle about it.