Post Content

Slylock Fox, 6/22/09

Generally speaking I feel the members of Slylock Fox’s rogues gallery are unjustly persecuted by the snoopy vulpine detective. Slylock’s pursuit of Cassandra obviously goes much deeper than his ostensible law-enforcement goals; Reeky Rat‘s only crime is dreaming bigger than his low place on the social totem pole would allow; even Slick Smitty deserves our sympathy as the lone human in a nightmarish world of talking animals.

But Shady Shrew … well, even when the evidence against him is thin, it’s hard to work up a lot of sympathy for him, because he’s obviously a creepy loser. His schemes aren’t executed with any panache or style, let alone competence. Take today’s strip, for instance. Doesn’t insurance fraud seem kind of pedestrian and degrading when compared to the thefts and mad science perpetrated in this feature? This is even less creative than his moon rock scam. And the wrong-way bending of the guardrail indicates a lack of attention to detail that makes whole sordid episode not even sporting. Slylock, presumably disgusted, has no doubt pulled out his magnifying glass so as to beat the shrew about the head and neck with it until the uniformed officers arrive.

Beetle Bailey, 6/22/09

I’m sure we could all have lots of fun coming up with homoerotic interpretations of the dialogue here, but that would distract us from the real issue, which is: what the hell is the deal with Sarge’s right hand. I guess his thumb is supposed to be tucked inside his clenched fingers, but really, who makes a fist like that? And honestly, it looks less like “thumb is tucked inside clenched fingers” and more like “no thumb at all and fat, rubbery tentacles curled up at the end of his palm.” It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Apartment 3-G, 6/22/09

I’m sorry, what if Margo is right about everything? Margo should punish you for even thinking that she might be wrong about anything, ever, but the universe will obviously exact a terrible vengeance on you for your act of heretical Margo-doubt in short order, Nora.

Post Content

Gil Thorp, 6/18/09

I’m kind of shocked that the word “sexting” has actually made an appearance in a Gil Thorp word balloon, but I’m not at all shocked by the context, in which Dr. Pearl (is this her first appearance under the new artist?) appears to be half-assedly principaling, since she presides over Milford High, America’s most half-assedly educated school. “But Dr. Pearl, I’m pretty sure this doesn’t constitute sext–” “I’m sorry, didn’t you hear what I said? This term appeared in major newsweeklies that my doctor leaves in his waiting room! I just learned the word last week and I’m going to use it, by God.”

Meanwhile, the prospect of Bill Hawkins being charged with a felony for not actually forwarding a totally non-revealing picture of his girlfriend in a cardboard bikini made me confront how little I actually like him. The problem with this story is that it revolves around the battle for the baseball team’s soul between Shep Trumbo, who is an unlikeable douchebag, and Bill Hawkins, who is noble and upright and good and also wholly unlikeable. I suppose if I had to choose which one I’d rather see go to jail, it would be Shep, but really if the whole team could just be dragged off by Milford’s jackbooted thugs and thrown in a dark hole where none of us would ever have to see them again, I’d be a happy guy.

Slylock Fox, 6/18/09

This is definitely the most intriguing Six Difference drama I’ve seen in some time. Let’s start with the obvious: the fellow in the chair has a charming mustache, the sinister lunatic in the child’s drawing does not. This implies two separate potential background narratives. Either chair-baldy is the kid’s stepfather, and, just in time for father’s day, he’s being passive-aggressively presented with a drawing of the absent bio-father; or the child has decided that the terrible voice in his head, the one that tells him to burn and kill, is his “real” father, and has drawn a picture of what he thinks this demonic force would look like: something like the man everyone says is his father, but with an evil grin and a glazed, murderous look in his eyes. Either way, the kid’s vacant smile and stab-ready crayon are things to worry about.

Family Circus, 6/18/09

Speaking of multiple wonderful possibilities, are we meant here to believe that Big Daddy Keane is actually trying to offer a skateboarding clinic, only to fail utterly and humiliate himself? Or has Billy just left his skateboard out in the middle of the floor, resulting in an accidental tumble, spun as “look, Daddy’s showing me how to skateboard!” in the usual self-serving darnedest-things-saying way of the Keane Kids? Either way, Daddy is going to be terribly injured, and this is pretty much the greatest Family Circus week ever.

Post Content

Marmaduke, 6/1/09

I suppose that Marmaduke’s owner’s wobbly, knock-kneed stance and one-sided smirk are supposed to convey “coquettish feigned innocence,” and that we are meant to understand that she has left her tired old penny loafers out in the middle of the floor, possibly after having covered them with steak sauce, so that Marmaduke will eat them and she’ll get to buy exciting new penny loafers. This is all well and good, but harnessing Marmaduke’s insatiable appetite for organic or quasi-organic matter to solve one’s problems can lead down a dangerous path. I shudder to imagine the scene, a few months hence, when Marmaduke’s owner arrives home to find the mangled corpses of her children strewn across the foyer. “Oh no!” she’ll exclaim. “Now I’ll have to figure out something fun to do with the money in their college savings accounts!”

Family Circus, 6/1/09

I actually find this cartoon kind of poignant, mostly because of what you can barely see written on the paper: “Chapt 1 I’m bored.” Is this some sort of creative writing assignment, where the students are allowed to write their own novels, their stories limited only by their imagination? Has the task brought Billy face to face with his essential emptiness, a fundamental lack of creative energy? Is he bored inside his own head? His enormous, misshapen head?

Hi and Lois, 6/1/09

I was going to make a crack here about the Flagstons’ depressing, sexless marriage, but then I remembered how awful it was when they last telegraphed to us their intentions to get freaky, so: yes, this is exactly how I expect — nay, require — Hi and Lois to spend their precious few hours of alone time.

Slylock Fox, 6/1/09

Really, Sly? Industrial espionage? That … that just seems beneath you.