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Gil Thorp, 3/26/14

The interminable winter Gil Thorp plot about … wardrobe malfunctions? or something? … has blessedly ground to a narratively unsatisfying halt, and now we’re getting the run-up to the spring plot, which, though it appears to be equally brain-dead, at least features one of the irritating teen characters being repeatedly and comically injured. Sadly, panel three here depicts zany and accident-prone baseball star “Lucky” Haskins being doused with root beer after suffering two self-inflicted black eyes — I say “sadly” not because I object to this humiliation (I most certainly do not) but because at first glance it might look like he’s being taken over by the sinister “black oil” virus from the X-Files, which would make for a more interesting plotline by an order of magnitude.

Mary Worth, 3/26/14

[GASP] TOMMY YOU CAN’T GO DOWNTOWN!!! DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT AWAITS YOU THERE? Mary Worth went downtown once, years ago, and barely escaped with her life! How can a vulnerable young addict, still fragile in his recovery, grapple with a hellscape like this and expect to escape with his soul intact?

Panel from Mary Worth, 8/7/05

Stay safely in the suburban zones, Tommy, if you value your life … and your sanity.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 3/26/14

I can’t imagine any USDA inspectors or other allies of the “revenooers” attempting to do their jobs in Hootin’ Holler, so I have to assume that the inhabitants have established their own method of agricultural regulation to make sure they don’t poison each other with the produce of their tiny, hardscrabble farms. While surely we can see the advantages to such a system, there are disadvantages too, as Loweezy is discovering. And anyway, isn’t even a local and voluntary rating system for butter a shadow of the encroaching and sinister government Leviathan? Why don’t the Smifs just fill out an IRS Form 1040 Schedule F (Profit or Loss From Farming) while they’re at it? Looks like some folk are going to have to decamp to an even less accessible holler before this whole place goes to hell.

Apartment 3-G, 3/26/14

For the record, Tommie is taking several days to describe how she tracked down a large animal vet by talking to a minor government official in a small town in Upstate New York, so, you know, don’t worry, because suspense isn’t really going to be involved in this equation.

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Mary Worth, 3/25/14

Oh, hey, what’s going on with Tommy the ex-con’s failing attempts to reintegrate himself into society? Well, today what’s up is that Tommy was sitting on his mom’s bed looking at Internet pornography all day instead of trying to find a job. As hilarious as Tommy’s facial expression in panel two is, I’m mostly fascinated by his feet in panel one. I know in my heart of hearts that he’s just supposed to be wearing white tube socks and there’s a little bit of a shadow falling from his feet onto the sheet, but it really looks to me like he owns white patent leather shoes with dark heels à la Pee-wee Herman and has chosen to wear them while sitting on his mom’s bed and looking at Internet pornography.

B.C., 3/25/14

One of the things that amuses me about my relationship with B.C. is that I’ve read it daily for more than a decade and yet there are multiple named characters that I literally have never been able to tell apart in any way. I mean, I know that these two here are “Clumsy” and “Curls,” because they actually have distinct character designs, but there are also “Peter” and “B.C.” and (I think?) “Thor” and I cannot tell you anything specific about any of them. This may explain why one of those guys died in fiery agony almost a year ago and I never even noticed he was missing.

Hagar the Horrible, 3/25/14

The thing I like about today’s Hagar the Horrible is that invites you to imagine the hours of inept rowing leading up to this exchange. “Okay, they … they still haven’t figured it out,” Hagar thinks. “Should I say something? No, they need to learn for themselves. If they ask, I’ll say something. God, they’re still doing it. Is this the dumbest Viking band in all the North? Was it even worth it to brutally kill my father’s cousin in single combat to win their loyalty? Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything, let them ask, let them ask, let them ask…”

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Slylock Fox, 3/24/14

Yes, yes, I’ve covered it all here exhaustively: at some point in the history of the Slylockverse, most species of animal abruptly achieved sapience and for the most part displaced Homo sapiens from its previous dominance of the ecosystem, with only a few genetically abnormal remnants like Wanda Witch surviving. Normally I’m obsessed with the question of when and how this Change occurred, but it’s worth contemplating some of the more subtle effects on the transformed animals themselves. For instance: just about every creature has a survival instinct, of course, and most animals will fight or flee when their dim minds understand that their health or life is in immediate danger. But only the most intelligent species have the time or capability to contemplate death in the abstract, to see grey hairs and smile lines in the mirror and realize with icy certainty that they herald the looming end. Would a bear in a forest in our world, or a beaver happily building a dam by instinct in some pristine lake, feel the slightest urge to trade some food or other precious item for a potion that would reverse the aging process? Of course not. And yet we humans understand all too well why these gullible beasts are willing to fork over hard-earned cash for the fraudulent promise of eternal youth. In the Garden of Eden parable, we imagine that humanity came into its own when it suddenly understood good and evil. But perhaps the truth is that awareness — and terror — of death is the true mark of a species that’s graduated to adulthood.

Wizard of Id, 3/24/14

I guess “Monkdonald’s” represents one of the Wizard of Id’s occasional acknowledgements that it notionally takes place in a vaguely medieval setting — because, they had, like, monks and stuff back then? Get it? Anyway, as a true indication of how half-assed everything about this is, the Monkdonald’s Happy Meal analogue is called a “Slappy Meal”, because it, like, rhymes and stuff? Get it? It so offends me that not the tiniest bit of effort has gone into making some joke mashing up McDonald’s product offerings and the golden age of European monasticism that I’m going to refuse to do it for them, even though making anachronistic jokes about monks is literally one of my favorite things in the world.

Heathcliff, 3/24/14

Is Heathcliff perhaps not quite the unstoppable badass that we’ve imagined? First we find out that he kisses his parole officer’s ass, and now we see that his suburb has been invaded and annexed by skunks and all he can do is watch in mute horror.