Post Content

Mary Worth, 12/4/12

Good news, everybody! One-armed Jim didn’t just happen to wander down to the pier because he cured himself of his deep-rooted psychological problems with sheer willpower. No, he overcame his deep terror of the sea and all it represents (i.e., boat-caused amputation and/or death) especially to see Dawn, and rather than using one of the many communication methods she made available to him, he decided to just lurk down by the water until she showed up, so he could startle and unsettle her. Add this to the “I want to protect/sex you because you look like my dead sister” and “I only like you as a friend, that’s why I’m calling you and texting you and emailing you a zillion times a day” and we know that this relationship can only be healthy from here on in!

Crock, 12/4/12

Well, here you have it: what I’m pretty sure is the first Crock I’ve ever laughed at unironically. Naturally it somehow arrives more than six months after the strip stopped being published, which I don’t understand any more than you do.

Post Content

Apartment 3-G, 12/3/12

I feel like this is a perfect opportunity to emphasize one of the most unbelievable A3G plot developments in years: namely, that Greg, a vaguely handsome American actor who not only hired Margo Magee as his publicist but also bought a co-op apartment in her so-so building — is the new James Bond. Today’s strip will disabuse everyone of any notions they might have about top-tier actors living a “glamorous lifestyle” or whatever. Nope, here’s Greg late at night, rambling around his apartment, still wearing his electric blue suit jacket, his yellow tie still knotted tight. On his nightstand: a pile of books, a framed picture of his publicist, and an empty jar of protein supplements. He wanders into the next room, wondering, not for the first time, who talked him into the mauve curtains, and what exactly this piece of furniture was that came up all the way to his armpits. Ah, well, it’s a good place to keep heaping glasses of scotch, just waiting for a moment of melancholy.

Family Circus, 12/3/12

I really wish that the joke in this Family Circus panel had made a bit more sense, because then I wouldn’t have stared at it as long as I have. And if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have noticed some unsettling things. Like how Mommy Keane’s hands, shoulders, and bosom seem freakishly large compared to her tiny, reed-like neck and (surprisingly, considering the anatomy of her offspring) smallish head. Or the window, which looks not out onto some soothing winter scene but just into empty, featureless blackness, with a green Christmas wreath/portal floating in the void, beckoning the unwary to pass through into yuletide nothingness. “How ’bout you tell me what you want for Christmas,” says Jeffy, “and then I’ll tell you what I want. And then you tell me what you want.” [Mommy’s head gets smaller] “And then I’ll tell you what I want.” [The wreath begins to spin, emitting a thrum just below the lowest register of human hearing that you can feel in your guts] “Tell me what you want.” [Mommy’s hands are the size of dinner plates now, and her head is no bigger than a golf ball, her tiny mouth moving and squeaking incomprehensibly] “Me want you want.” [madness madness madness CHRISTMAS IS COMING CHRISTMAS IS COMING]

Post Content

Heathcliff, 12/2/12

Ha, what’s this? Something has gone terribly wrong with the Heathcliff coloring process — and by “terribly wrong” I mean “delightfully right,” obviously. Someone who knows more about this than me should chime in, but I’m guessing what we’re looking at is an image file that only contains some of the Photoshop layers that went into the strip. It’s totally incomprehensible and actually amazingly beautiful, as far as I’m concerned, with the pastel-y vibe and the large, unsettling white spaces on the cat’s faces. This should be hanging up in some little avant garde artspace downtown, but instead it will have probably been “corrected” online to the usual Heathcliff banality by the time you read this.

Mary Worth, 12/2/12

Gosh, whaddya know! Jim’s down at the pier and he’s not panicking or freaking out at all! I guess he managed to cure himself of being a trauma-haunted, semi-delusional control freak with years of therapy with a trained professional by just sucking it up and going down to the pier and realizing it’s not so bad. Problem solved! Now he’s going to point at a bunch of people, just to prove that, despite his missing arm, he can point with the best of them, just like any two-armed man would.

Marmaduke, 12/12/12

Marmaduke didn’t like playing cowboy so much. His task was to send humans down the infinitely deep pit to the hell-dimension that was his awful kingdom, not other dogs. Why did the dogs provoke him? Never again, he thought, as he watched the hat fall downward, ever downward, to the chamber of eternal agony. Never again.

Luann, 12/12/12

Yes, Mr. DeGroot! Burn it. Burn it all! Burn everything down.