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Beetle Bailey, 10/17/10

Sunday Beetle Baileys are notorious for being flabby and shapeless, with an absence of rhythm that guarantees that any possible fun is sucked out of it, but today’s is pretty much one of the worst I’ve seen. I’m not buying the idea that Beetle, who typically can’t even be bothered to push his hat out of his face, has suddenly developed a love for American Revolution trivia. And the weird ritualistic baseball/”surrender” exchange has so little payoff — one would expect that Beetle would use Sarge’s surrender to get out of work, or beatings, somehow — that Sarge is absolutely right to look as bored as he does. About all this strip has going for it is the reminder that Miss Buxley’s little black dress is actually a little red dress, colored black for the demands of the black-and-white daily strips that we increasingly often see colorized.

Family Circus, 10/17/10

Look, Jeffy, here in America we watch TV five hours a day. If you can’t hack it, maybe you should go to Communist Russia, where they’ll let you read books or some garbage like that.

My Cage, 10/17/10

This is getting a bit self-indulgent, but I did want to make sure that Curmudgeon readers who got shout-outs here and who rely on the no-Sunday Strips Houston Chronicle for their comics got to see their names in lights. What I want to know is, why no animal-style names for us? I dare you to come up with an animal-pun version of “Fruhlinger.”

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Slylock Fox, 10/16/10

Oh, hi, kids, while you’re busy trying to remember which organs participate the digestive process, this doctor and nurse are just going to look on in undisguised horror at something at the back of this poor man’s throat. Whatever it is must be truly and spectacularly large, as the nurse can apparently see it from across the room. Is it the biggest tumor either of these longtime medical professionals have ever seen? Is it a glowing sac of alien eggs dangling from his uvula? Or maybe it’s not something visible — maybe it’s the awful stench of death evident on his breath. Whatever the case, when I see expressions like this on the faces of health practitioners, I expect the subject to be immediately placed in an isolation chamber and whisked away to a secret NSA lab by top government scientists.

Popeye, 10/16/10

I generally only mention Popeye here when produces something that’s hilarious out of context, and I think today’s meeting of old acquaintances (and former lovers?) “Poopdeck Pappy” and “Tuna Salad” fits the bill.

Mark Trail, 10/16/10

Wow, I was all worked up about some discrepancies in adherence hunting safety rules in yesterday’s Mark Trail, but now that our hero has covered twenty yards or more, leaping over a fence in the process, and hurled himself directly in front of someone who’s about to fire a rifle, I now know that safety is quite obviously the last thing on anybody’s mind here. Carry on, lunatics!

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Mark Trail, 10/15/10

There are lots of things about this rapidly developing scenario that seem very, very off to me, though since I’ve never gone hunting I can’t be 100 percent sure. Like, do hunters really shoot deer that are this small/young? Do they shoot at deer when there are crazed children running around downrange? Do they shout at each other at high volume when deer are 10-15 feet away? Maybe they do! These are all mysteries to me.

However, I do feel like I’m on firmer ground in questioning the current senator/gubernatorial candidate interpersonal dynamics. Frank, right now you need Senator Whatshisface to convince his fat-cat donors to give to your campaign, and maybe even to contribute a bit from his own WhatshisfacePAC. And even after you’re elected, you’ll still need to make nice with him so you can get the sweet, sweet federal earmarks that lead to campaign photos of you cutting a ribbon on an eight-lane highway through Lost Forest. So maybe you shouldn’t brusquely bellow orders at him? Trying to create a relaxing environment where he can have fun and maybe kill a few things was a good idea, but you can’t force someone to enjoy himself by browbeating him.

Apartment 3-G, 10/15/10

Boy, Lu Ann sure is flailing her hands around a lot at about head level. Presumably her “awesome” hair extensions are making her scalp feel really weird, and she has to constantly hold herself back from just ripping them out in a frenzy.