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Lockhorns, 3/1/11

Wow, if you had asked me, “Which comics couple has a whole secret life in which they run pharming parties and ingest massive amounts of bootleg prescription drugs?”, the Lockhorns would not have been my answer. (Connie and Walt from Zits would have been my number one choice, for the record.) I’m pretty sure this is the first Lockhorns panel I’ve seen where both halves of the titular hell-couple are smiling at the same time, even though Leroy’s got the squiggly-smile that is this comic’s shorthand for intoxication of one sort or another. I’m not sure who the anonymous foreground lady is supposed to be, but Loretta is clearly very excited about introducing her to the mind-altering bounty in that box of wonderful pharmaceutical treats from our neighbors to the north.

Mary Worth, 3/1/11

“Let me tell you something, Wilbur. Your daughter’s lived with you her whole life, so I have to imagine that she’s been forced to watch what I just saw — you inhaling a hamburger right out of your hands, barely pausing to chew — over and over again. So you can’t blame her for developing defensive strategies. I sure wish I had been facing a computer screen instead of facing you when that happened. I kind of wish there were a computer screen between the two of us right now, or maybe just a thick concrete or metal barrier of some kind.”

Wizard of Id, 3/1/11

Aw, isn’t that nice! Remember, whether you’re a prisoner of your job and the low social status associated with it, or just an actual, literal prisoner, you can still escape your bonds and drudgery with the power of your imagination. In this case, the imaginary journey involves macking on sexy ladies, I guess? Seriously, I have no idea what the hell is supposed to be going on here.

Dick Tracy, 3/1/11

The reason we put up with month after month of aimless insanity in Dick Tracy is that, eventually, any given plot will suddenly resolve itself into a brief episode of visceral, nightmarish horror, which remains incomprehensible on any kind of intellectual level but will still be seared into your consciousness, forever. Anyway, as today’s strip features a mass murderer in a gimp mask squirming in terror at the arrival of hundreds of bloodthirsty rats, I think it’s safe to say that this stage of the narrative has arrived.

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Mark Trail, 2/28/11

“His name is Mark Trail and he is American.” God, has any phrase ever been so perfectly calculated to make your proud to be from the U.S. — or, if you aren’t from the U.S, to make you ashamed for being a filthy foreigner who can’t vote for the same President that Mark Trail votes for? (Mark Trail casts his ballot with his fist, so that there’s never any question of “voter intent”.) My heart was so swelled with patriotism upon reading this that I almost missed the insane implication that underlies this statement, namely that Mark somehow drifted in his small boat to another country, an exotic tropical island inhabited by white people. Who are these mysterious tribeswomen? Why have they dragged Mark back to their home rather than seeking medical attention for that festering black wound on his forehead? What oppressive regime causes them to fear being discovered in even this half-assed act of kindness? Why does Mark keep an autographed photo of his wife in his wallet? Is it in case he forgets her name, or forgets which of the baffling and terrifying females in his life he’s married to?

Crock, 2/28/11

God help me, I have to say that I like almost everything about this Crock strip. I like the way the camel is drawn to some kind of realistic scale, dwarfing the bartender and all the human-sized furniture in the strip. I like his nonviolent but apparently extremely effective threat to slobber all over our speciesist barkeep. But mostly I like the dialogue-less third panel, in which the camel grins at us triumphantly, with the telltale cartoon bubbles over his head indicating that he’s already well on his way to being drunk. Kudos to you, my soused desert-dwelling friend!

B.C., 2/28/11

Today’s B.C. accidentally raises an interesting question about primitive societies: in tiny early hominid bands — there can’t be more than, what, 10 named characters in the entire B.C. universe, right? — where everyone knew each other intimately, could much of what we think of as crime ever happen?

Apartment 3-G, 2/28/11

Ha, it’s only Monday and Margo is already getting lit. There’s a number of ways this story can end — in recriminations, in violence, in oversharing — and all of them are delicious.

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 2/27/11

“Yep, you sure won, Gran, what with your obvious terror of your imminent demise! Look at ’er weeping bitter, bitter tears!”

Panel from Dick Tracy, 2/27/11

“That’s right, citizen! The way to soothe anxiety is to blend in with the crowd! Conform! Conform! Dick Tracy and the thoughtcrimestoppers textbook demand it!”