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Jumble, 8/25/09

I’ve been doing this blog for (ye gods) more than five years now, and in that time I’ve learned that cartoonists are charming, funny, wonderful people who are incredibly good-natured and have a sense of humor about what I do here, even if I’m cruelly mocking their life work. This is true of the ones who contact me, at least; there may in fact be dozens of comics artists out there seething at my scorn, but they have yet to start hurling bricks through my window. Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that some comics artists actually go out of their way to ask why I don’t make fun of them, and among those people is Jumble artist Jeff Knurek (whose last name always looks to me like a Jumble clue, but I digress). Although I have noted this feature a couple of times in the past (drawing zoophilic perversions always helps you get into this blog), I have submitted to his urgings and am now approaching his puzzle comic anew! Anyway, today’s comic proves that Mr. Knurek has sadly confused “astrologer” with “low-rent Elvis impersonator,” and “crystal ball” with “ball of yarn.”

Reading the Jumble also reminds me of the fact that it makes me feel stupid, because I’m not actually smart enough/don’t have the attention span to solve the puzzle, ever. Crosswords I love, but my brain stubbornly refuses to rearrange word scrambles into the correct configuration. Thus, I’m always getting the joke a day late and out of context, since I do read the answers faithfully. In that regard, I feel obliged to point out that “MIRTH SKIMP CROTCH PENURY” seems to tell a delightful little tale about wasting all your money on prostitutes.

Ziggy, 8/25/09

How much abuse does Ziggy take in his titular comic-panel? It’s unquantifiable, but it’s a lot. Today’s installment includes a common Ziggy stance, in which our hero twists his little hat nervously while being berated just for being Ziggy (in this case, by the main character from the recent Pixar hit Up, slumming). You don’t see Ziggy actually wearing his hat very often, but you do see him clutching at it anxiously quite a bit; it seems to mostly serve as a prop for his pathetic cringing. The fact that he has props for his pathetic cringing goes a long way towards explaining why Ziggy’s abuse elicits more vague disgust than sympathy.

Family Circus, 8/25/09

Good lord, it’s a very bad sign for the blackout violence to start at such a young age. It looks like Dolly’s going to have to be chained up in the basement with the other four Keane Kids you never hear about.

Apartment 3-G, 8/25/09

Oh, yeah, you know what helps alleviate the grief? GRIEF SEX! [insert porn “bown chicka bowp bown” music here]

Judge Parker, 8/25/09

Oh, yeah, you know what helps alleviate the pain of minor injuries? MINOR INJURY SEX! [insert porn “bown chicka bowp bown” music here]

Ha ha, just kidding, obviously. If you saw some fiendish hell-demon crawling towards you with a sexy woman’s body and a yawning inky black emptiness where its face should be, you wouldn’t start unbuttoning your shirt to reveal your heaving bosom; you’d run screaming into the woods, severe ankle sprain be damned.

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Apartment 3-G, 8/21/09

Oh, Margo, I know that talking about the good times helps the healing process along, but describing your and Eric’s sex life in vivid terms will only serve to make everyone uncomfortable.

Ballard Street, 8/21/09

As a rule, I only mention Ballard Street, which generally depicts lunatics doing inscrutable things, when it’s particularly insane, and I certainly think that today’s installment, in which the McCullys are apparently eating their dog, qualifies.

Marmaduke, 8/21/09

In an attempt to put a stop to the damage that Marmaduke is doing to His creation, God Himself is attempting to melt the demon-hound with His divine radiance, with only partial success.

Ziggy, 8/21/09

This chef is attempting to get Ziggy high, on Robitussin.

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Dick Tracy, 8/13/09

OK, when I see “cutting” bandied about as a noun like this, I think immediately about people who self-harm. However, it’s obvious that Dick Tracy lacks the depression, self-doubt, vulnerability, and ability to feel emotional pain of any sort for that to be what he’s proposing; plus, he’s offering the suggestion with an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. Therefore, I can only assume that he’s actually planning to perform an impromptu autopsy on our poor dead trapeze artist, right there on the floor of the Big Top. “The sawdust will easily absorb the blood!”

Oh by the way, Dick, IT WAS THE CLOWN THAT DID IT. THE CLOWN WITH THE SOULFUL, SHIFTY EYES. HE KILLED HER. AND SENT THE NOTE. JUST FYI.

Mark Trail, 8/13/09

It’s now clear that we can’t refer to this gun-toting, orange-clad individual as an assassin, or even as a hit man, but nevertheless I’m beginning to really sort of be in awe of him. You have to respect the years of weapons training it must have taken for him to master the craft of not quite killing people. I wonder if every day he picks up his gun and shakes his head and thinks, “Thank goodness this rifle is in my capable hands. If you didn’t know what you were doing, you could really hurt someone with this!”

Crankshaft, 8/13/09

Since Cranksaft is, as near as I can tell, standing at floor level, I’m not sure whose perspective the first panel is supposed to be drawn from. One of the garden club ladies who drank too much gin and quietly slumped out of her front row seat onto the floor? The cheering throngs gathered in the public square to look up in adulation at their gardener-dictator giving a speech from a balcony, a scenario that frequently plays out in Crankshaft’s mind? Meanwhile, panel three is definitely one of the scariest things I’ve seen this week, and replicating or even approximating it in real life would probably loosen the tongues of everyone from the perps down at central booking to al Qaeda masterminds. “NO, NOT CRANKSHAFT! I’LL TELL YOU THE REAL ANSWER! JUST DON’T LET HIM NEAR ME!”

Ziggy, 8/13/09

If you’re going to be claiming ownership over sentient beings, Ziggy, perhaps you ought not to have acquired so many of them. You can wave paperwork around all you want, but why should you expect them to respect any system of law that perpetuates their enslavement? The grim expressions make it clear that a bloody revolt is in the offing, with each animal using its particular skills in the cause of their collective freedom. You don’t even want to know what that angry little fish is going to do to you.

(Psst! Interested in seeing a piece I did on various computers in various vehicles?)