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Spider-Man, 3/2/10

It should OBVIOUSLY come as no surprise to anyone that faithful reader Chip Wittle’s comment of the week runner up would essentially come true — that Peter Parker, having left his stupid costume at home, would acquire a new stupid costume, from a costume shop. Hell, he already did this three years ago, when a then-slumming-in-LA Parker bought a vaguely pirate-y get-up and a plastic eye mask and dubbed himself “Justice Guy” (though if I’m remember correctly, the name may have resulted from a passerby mishearing his protestation that he was “just a guy”). But how to make this plot twist exciting and new for the hot Miami sun (and burning-hot Miami buildings)?

Well, the first step is to up the ludicrousness quotient of the costumes. If that lady isn’t rescued in the next few days by Justice Wizard, Super Wehrmacht Officer, or The Ballerina (or, better yet, by some combination of the three), I will be sorely disappointed. Then there’s the fact that this “Party Shop” is closed; last December Mark Trail proved that having your hero engage in a little vigilante breaking and entering is ratings gold, so obviously Spider-Man wants in on that action (although probably there will be less heroic window-smashing and more jiggling of doorknobs and whining). Finally, there’s the intriguing reason for the store closure. Presumably whatever comical outfit Spidey puts on will be lousy with influenza virus, which means that everyone he “rescues” for the remainder of this storyline will die of H1N1 sooner than later.

Hi and Lois, 3/2/10

Bored with his stultifying suburban life, Ditto has decided to strike out on his own with a couple of working men, riding the trash-collecting routes and seeting what real life has to offer! He’ll have a blast, until they sell him to a band of hobos.

Gasoline Alley, 3/2/10

Hmm, Frank Buckles is the last American World War I survivor, but Uncle Walt also served in the Great War, and everyone’s being circumspect about the context in which he did so. My conclusion: he actually fought for the Central Powers. This seemingly immortal fixture on the comics page will finally meet his end when, in the midst of a flashback, he puts on his Stahlhelm, fixes his bayonet, and charges the local police, believing them to be doughboys come to wrest Alsace-Lorraine from the Kaiser’s grasp.

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Your COTW momentarily, but first, an absolutely delightful bit of Worthiana from faithful reader John Small Berries! He writes:

While cleaning out my office, I ran across the attached panel of Ian Cameron trying to relax at home. I’m not sure when it was originally published, but it’s at least several years old (my wife snagged a photocopy from the clipping on her mother’s refrigerator back in the first half of the last decade; no idea how long it had been hanging there). I thought you, and perhaps the rest of the Comics Curmudgeon readers, might be at least mildly amused by this bygone glimpse of life in Casa Chinbeard.

One of the interesting things about the soap opera strips is that there are literally thousands of them out there, but they’re almost entirely uncollected and thus inaccessible to any but the most patient soul willing to whirl through the microfilm at their local library. Who knows what awesome Aldo-level storylines delighted Mary Worth readers in the ’70s or ’80s, only to vanish in the mists of time? All we have is are brief, contextless glimpses like this. We can tell, for instance, that sometime in the 1990s or thereabouts Professor Cameron liked to “adjust” his “attitude” by sitting in front of the TV with a bowl of potato chips, a sizable amount of ranch dressing, and three tall glasses of scotch, and that in the middle of one such episode, he was interrupted by a rude buzzing, possibly a result of someone pressing a marital aid against his condo unit’s door. Beyond that, we know nothing.

Anyway, on to your COMMENT OF THE WEEK!

“Yeah, right now Wilbur, like a small child on Christmas morning, is infatuated with Kurt, but in about a week it’ll all be sandwich, sandwich, sandwich.” –Baka Gaijin

And your runners up! Very AMUSING.

“I was just down at the medical center, and I picked up this donated organ no-one wanted! Now let me pour out some clear serum for a refreshing drink!” –nomuse

“A trip through Devil’s Pass sounded interesting, so naturally it wasn’t. MT has a strange gift that seems to require a new word. I choose ‘borifying.'” –Poteet

“When he talks to his wife, Mark Trail has a vacant expression of joy that is the hallmark of a man whose marriage is built on a foundation of pharmaceuticals and denial.” –NoahSnark

“Thank goodness for Apartment 3-G, where Mr. Margo’s Dad remains under the adorable delusion that his daughter can love.” –Black Drazon

They use to tell me I was so green … that my head looked like even more like an avocado.” –Red Greenback

“I love how that conversation ends. Cherry saying ‘I love you’ and that’s it. Mark had probably already hung up. Or better, he slammed the phone down as soon as he heard Cherry’s tongue curl.” –Roto13

“It does look like even the pigeons are just sort of ‘Yeah, whatever, buddy, just keep the birdseed coming.'” –Baron Bizarre

“‘Kurt agreed to the paternity test? Will he confess that he knew the results all along?’ I can just imagine how that conversation will go. Wilbur: ‘Well, it cost us $2,000, but now we know that I’m not your father.’ Kurt: ‘Yes. I knew all along. I’ve been intentionally manipulating you.’ Wilbur: ‘This won’t change our relationship at all.'” –AndyL

“Peter should just go to a costume store if he needs his silly pajamas to fight crime and rent one. Then he can spend three weeks’ worth of panels worrying about WHAT IF the clerk SUSPECTS that he might be THE REAL SPIDER-MAN and isn’t that a suspicious request for a CREDIT CARD that has his REAL-LIFE NAME AS PETER PARKER on it, that somebody might use to trace his SECRET IDENTITY? Meanwhile the actual clerk finds Peter to be a dull, slightly fidgety guy who’ll get the speediest possible service because he’s acting kind of creepy so let’s take his money and get him out of here.” –Chip Whittle

“How bad is Dawn’s tea? Apparently Mary has to use both hands just to force it down her own throat.” –Digger

“Good Lord. It’s like they wrote ‘3 P.M.: Frolic’ in their day planners.” –commodorejohn

“I’m a little insulted by the snarky ridicule directed towards Wilbur and Kurt, to be honest. Sounds like someone didn’t get enough con-artist/fake-father bonding time growing up” –Krazy Kat

“There is nothing more alluring to high school girls than helping the school janitor clean up the gym after a game. Maybe he will let you sniff the used towels.” –Rusty

Dithers’ heel isn’t on Dagwood’s throat; it’s on his bowtie, the source of his power.” –Jonn

“Yes, Beetle, it is always a mistake to embark on a journey into the strange, crisp world of uniform cosplay.” –skullcrusherjones

“But check out that look on Mr. Kessler’s face; he’s staring directly at the comic strip audience with a knowing look in his eyes, as if to say ‘You and I, my friends, we know better, don’t we? We know that just last night I was entertaining a couple of nubile young coeds and then things got a little, shall we say, Freak-Ay! You can find more details at http://www.kinkymisterkessler.com. All major credit cards accepted.'” –Jeff Soesbe (yeff)

“Kurt’s gone! And he made his bed first! THE BASTARD!!!” –BowToTheBard

“Mr. Wilbur Weston really ought to be arrested for felonious lack of self-respect. Is there any doubt what caused young Mr. Evans to slink away in the middle of the night? One is not surprised that he would prefer the precarious life of a ne’er-do-well to having such a sad case as a role model. He certainly could see the impact on his putative half-sister. Miss Weston has no friends, no life, and apparently no ambition beyond being elected princess at the Santa Royale eggplant festival.” –Fashion Police

It’s Kurt. He’s gone! But for some reason you’re still here, Dawn.” –Judas Peckerwood

“Ah … Major Kessler of the SS. The Mossad lost you in Argentina. Milford … in a clown suit … pure evil genius! Check and mate, sir!” –Sans Sense

“I get a strong impression that the MW artist really enjoyed drafting class and would be much happier if he were allowed to draw Wilbur, Dawn, and the rest of the crew as nice, pleasing, regular cuboids in a cabinet oblique projection. Cross-hatching could be employed as an indicator of strong emotion, when required. The white shorts today are a clear sign of a bitter, frustrated man lashing out the only way he knows how.” –One-eyed Wolfdog

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Beetle Bailey, 3/1/10

I swear I’m not making an effort to find the secret dark heart of Beetle Bailey lately; but doesn’t it just seem like the strip has just been getting kind of grim? Today’s installment appears to have been first written as an almost unspeakably bleak scenario: Beetle being dragged off by scowling MPs for treason or some terrible breach of the military law, to Fort Leavenworth or Gitmo or just a summary execution by firing squad. He weakly proclaims that it was all a mistake, he didn’t do anything, but the fact that he’s, against the grain of his usual character, put on a vaguely presentable uniform indicates that he knew the gig was up and decided to go out with a modicum of dignity. Sarge, meanwhile, can only look on in heartbroken shock. “Beetle!” he cries. “What have you done?! For the love of God, what have you done?!

Presumably the editor for this strip, after putting his or her head down on the desk and crying quietly for a bit, sent it back to Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Enterprises LLC with a scrawled note to “wacky it up a little bit, with, I dunno, some Keystone Cops or 19th century U.S. Cavalry officers or some shit like that.” Then back to the weeping.

Gil Thorp, 3/1/10

Dang, Gil Thorp, I know you’re written by jocks for jocks, but can you tone it down a little bit with the anti-nerd hate speech? You know, Coach Kaz, maybe Mr. Kessler doesn’t have the “jailbait problems” you’ve encountered because he’s an urbane, witty gentleman who exudes class and intelligence, and therefore doesn’t attract the high school girls the way your mullet does.

Mary Worth, 3/1/10

“…and he took the bottom two-thirds of my pants with him! My God, my pale, tender leg-flesh … gleaming in the bright light of day … DON’T LOOK! DON’T LOOK!”