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For Better Or For Worse, 3/17/07

Oh yeah, Gerald an’ April are gonna be at home all by themselves. And they’re going to “practicing.” And I think you and I both know what they’ll be practicing. That’s right: they’ll be practicing talking like actual fifteen-year-olds, rather than robots programmed by a sixty-year-old to say things like “make some green,” “the kiddies,” and, of course, “practice.”

Beetle Bailey, 3/17/07

For those of you who don’t know, a “magnum” is a one-and-a-half liter bottle of wine or champagne, which is twice the usual size. Thus, General Halftrack is merely proposing to drink himself into a stupor so as to at least briefly obliterate from his mind the hellish reality of the marriage he hates, and is not openly contemplating some kind of murder-suicide scenario. It’s still plenty grim, though perhaps not as off-putting as his flesh-colored mustache in panel two.

Curtis, 3/17/07

Clearly there’s some kind of off-panel donkey defecation going on in the first panel of today’s Curtis, but I have to admit that I’m disturbingly fixated on Curtis’ unfinished sentence. Why do you think they call it what? What? Is there some proverb or turn of phrase or bit of folk wisdom that involves donkey poop?

Judge Parker, 3/17/07

Wow, look at the expressions of utter panic on the faces Neddy and Abbey as they grapple with the concept of having missed their stop. If rich Americans, who are clearly the best and smartest people in the world, can’t handle the complexity of public transit, how in the world do the poor foreigners who ride it consistently make it home alive? Here’s a hint, kids: the train goes both ways along its whole route. You could just get off and get back on going back the other direction until you return to your stop, and not have to wander through whatever horrifying slumscape you’ve inevitably ended up in.

If you can’t tell, I’m growing more and more contemptuous of these two with each passing moment that they manage to further botch the relatively simple task of taking the train; thus, I am now openly rooting for the sinister punk rockers, and firmly believe that our pair of innocents abroad will deserve what they get. Fortunately, the evil punks probably don’t have anything sexually deviant planned for their victims, since, despite all evidence, they apparently believe that Neddy and Abbey are men. Yes, “Ils regardent la carte,” as Mohawk Punk puts it, means “They’re looking at the map,” but the “they” is masculine; the feminine would be “elles”. I don’t mean to imply that I’m some big expert Frenchie-talker — I was in charge of parlezing the vous when we were in a remarkably punk-rocker-free Paris a few years ago, and Mrs. C. will be happy to tell you how badly that went — but the ils/elles distinction is something you literally learn in the first week of French class.

Slylock Fox, 3/17/07

The most disturbing thing about this Slylock Fox? It’s not the fact that the cow has, in a burst of unnatural strength, managed to leap across a road; nor is it the cow’s unprovoked attack on the terrified rabbit, despite the fact that two species are not traditionally antagonistic towards each other. No, it’s the heavy-lidded, unfocused expression on the cow’s face, combined with the lolling tongue. That cow is high as a kite, and I don’t just mean literally.

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Mary Worth, 3/13/07

Following hot on the heels of yesterday’s tush-grope fest, we find that Vera has learned something very important about interacting with Ben: don’t let him sneak up behind you, and guard your genitals at all time.

There’s something about the “ha-ha.”, complete with period, in the second panel of this strip that just disturbs the hell out of me. We can see why Ben’s doing so well at Creepy Lack Of Affect Advertising Agency, what with his unlaugh barely hiding his stalking intentions. “Surely you aren’t trying to escape me … and my grabby hands … just because I have access to your HR records and your old address … ha-ha.”

Slylock Fox, 3/13/07

You know, if I wrote a comic aimed at young children populated by anthropomorphic animals, I might gloss over some of the more disturbing aspects of the great web of life on this planet, but hey, Slylock Fox, don’t let me stop you from traumatizing millions of bunny-loving kiddies everywhere. This feature has never shied away from depicting various terrified prey animals in their natural habitat, but there’s something about the civilized setting here that just makes this so much wronger. What I wonder is: who did that big, juicy steak on Leo’s plate just get sliced off of? And who did the slicing?

Judge Parker, 3/13/07

Wait, are you two ladies moaning about what a pain it’s going to be to inherit four enormous European mansions? That’s it, I hate you, I don’t care how sexy you are. I hope you get mugged by punk rockers! Which you almost certainly will, in six to eight months.

Gil Thorp, 3/13/07

One of the things I love best about Gil Thorp is that I read it every day and I still don’t know what the hell is going on half the time. For instance, did you know that Snoopy Reporter Girl is also on the basketball team? I sure didn’t? Also, do you know her name? I sure don’t!

My very favorite thing about this strip is clearly the disembodied set of alien tentacles that’s perched on Rick’s shoulder in the first panel; fortunately, Snoopy Reporter Girl is a good four feet away and can flee if it attacks her. Also awesome is Rick’s casual diagonal leaning pose in panel three. When Von Haney did it on the radio, it signified extreme smugness, but here I think it denotes an increasing weariness at these bush-league Woodward and Bernstein antics — weariness surely shared by everyone following along at home.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/13/07

With all the talk of failed drug tests, this is probably the first patented Rex Morgan, M.D., up-the-nostril shot that’s actually kind of relevant to the storyline.

Pluggers, 3/13/07

A plugger’s contempt for local restaurateurs is matched only by his hostility towards his own circulatory system.

Dennis the Menace, 3/13/07

Dennis’ menacing hits yet another new low as he fobs off the task of antagonizing his baby-sitter — previously a core menacing competency — onto some random person on the phone.

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Mary Worth, 3/12/07

So Mary Worth’s storyline seems to have finally given up, and I say good riddance. It could never really figure out what it was supposed to be about — fortune telling and condo association rules? Agent Orange? a battle for biddy supremacy? Mary’s latent guilt? Mary’s latent love for Jeff? tuna casserole? As Ella drives off, presumably to her death, we can only hope that more interesting things, or at least more coherent things, are in the cards.

And call me a hopeless optimist, but I’m guessing they are! “Hi there! I’m Gropy McGrabass, and I’m an up-and-comer here at Creepy Lack Of Affect Advertising Agency! You must be the new person here, right? I bet you haven’t had your sexual harassment seminar yet! It’s a load of bullcrap, trust me! Hey, mind if I rest my hand on your rear end for the next three to six months?”

Non Sequitur, 3/12/07

Well, I live in Baltimore, actually, but it’s true that I’m not afraid to point out blatant payola wherever I may find it. So don’t try to silence me, oppressive gears of international capitalism, and don’t try to buy me off!

Wait, did I say “don’t try to buy me off”? I meant “do.” Really! Do!

It sounds like an urban legend, but it’s an absolutely true story: One of my wife’s co-workers had a baby a few years ago, and when she (my wife) was visiting her (her co-worker) at the hospital, another proud mom in the maternity ward reported that her husband needed to figure out how to spell their new daughter’s name, so he had just run over to the liquor store to copy it down from a bottle of Courvoisier. Because everyone should be named after whatever substance contributed most directly to their conception.

Marmaduke and Ziggy, 3/12/07

Today, two single-panel standbys took on an intriguing question: can a relatively lame and somewhat puzzling joke be made funnier by the addition of donuts, which some might argue to be an inherently amusing food? The answer is clearly “no”, but it’s nice to see them trying new things.

Does it make me a bad person to think that “the Donut Hole” is an almost unspeakably filthy name for a business? It’s not as bad as “the Bucket,” but still.

Slylock Fox, 3/12/07

Glow-in-the-dark paint? I’m afraid Shady Shrew’s a lot shadier than that: that’s a big pile of radioactive waste, and our soricomorphic friend is a terrorist dirty bomber as well as a perpetrator of televised consumer fraud.

What the hell kind of home shopping network allows its vendors make crude, hand-painted signs for their wares? The kind that doesn’t have a geiger counter, apparently.

Apartment 3-G, 3/12/07

Going by Tommie’s facial expression, I’m guessing she’s all kinds of not listening to Margo. Not that it matters, because, as the greatest omniscient narration box in the history of omniscient narration boxes tells us, “Back at 3-G, Margo’s happiness is undiminished!” Pretty much every installment of this strip that features Margo could include that box, actually; just substitute “rage” for “happiness” if she’s in her other mood, and you’d be all set.