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Mary Worth, 12/20/09

Wilbur is reacting to the revelation that he may have sired a young person named “Kurt” in a way totally at variance with the way in which a normal human would respond, which I guess is another way of saying that he’s reacting exactly like a Mary Worth character would respond. He seems to be treating the possibility that he has an unknown son not as a shocking revelation or a potential scam, but rather as part of the unpleasant memories of his college years. “You know, once I graduated, I never really wanted to revisit that part of my life — the drugs, the embarrassing politics, the creation of other human beings using my naughty bits, my obsession with prog rock…”

Marvin, 12/20/09

Today’s Marvin is another strip whose entire tone is changed by the throwaway panel in the top row. Without it, we have a simple, tragic story about a young boy whose selfless gift to Santa was pillaged by a greedy dog. But with those panels in place, we know that Marvin himself stole those cookies, and thus his moral indignation at this little drama’s denouement must be seen as rather ironic.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/20/09

This is pretty much a near-perfect Rex Morgan, M.D., containing as it does June wildly oscillating between supercilious rage and mortifying self-doubt, a groggy Rex desperately trying to soothe his wife and so he can get some sleep but still expending enough energy to be kind of a dick about it, and copious amounts of skin and sex appeal all around. (I’m assuming that “mortifying self-doubt” is the emotion we’re supposed to be seeing in the second panel, as “face-melting” isn’t an emotion per se.) Panel three is a particularly delight both for June Morgan boob fans and aficionados of general ridiculousness, as June seems to have carefully positioned herself before waking up her husband. “Brook thinks you’re too cute for me … I mean, has she even seen my impossibly perfect breasts? I’m gonna cut her!”

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Gil Thorp, 12/20/09

OH MY GOODNESS! It turns out that Valerie hooked up with the slightly cross-eyed band geek that Jamaar paid to keep tabs on Valerie, in a turn of events that could only be predicted by anyone who has ever had even rudimentary experience with narrative of any sort. Now, since I’m a slightly lazy-eyed former band geek myself, I’m a fan of band geeks finding love with Amazonian girl jocks, but I’m an even bigger fan of things not turning out as you’d expect in Gil Thorp, so I’m hoping that Valerie has merely turned the tables on Jamaar and is just paying Deion to pretend to be her boyfriend. That would explain why he’s rubbing his face ecstatically against her hand in panel two, as if this is a singular, unique experience that he wants to treasure every second of, while she just glowers meaningfully at Jamaar. Thus, the unseen dialogue: “I think we finally did it — we made ‘the Ghost’ disappear! Here’s $50. Never talk to me again.”

Dick Tracy, 12/19/09

Say what you will about Dick Tracy, but the art will never fail to baffle and delight. Today we learn that the enormous, bleak entry plaza to this concert hall is just part of a larger modernist architectural horrorshow, with the nightmarish structure apparently being topped by a rotating restaurant, or perhaps an attacking UFO. In panel two, we’re reminded that Dick Tracy never phones it in when it comes to shocking violence; while another, lesser strip might simply depict an enraged father strangling his son, here we see our crazed elder longhair attempting to literally rip off his son’s face. Finally, panel three offers a curious juxtaposition between Tess’s dialogue and facial expression, unless we’re meant to understand that she finds ingesting copious amounts of cocaine “peaceful.”

Beetle Bailey, 12/19/09

More proof that the soldiers of Camp Swampy really do represent the military’s dregs: they can’t even maintain interested consciousness when being instructed on the use of what looks to be some kind of terrifying futuristic radioactive death ray.

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Ziggy, 12/18/09

Wow! Like a lot of people, I assumed that Ziggy would make a token response to Pearls Before Swine’s put-pants-on-Ziggy crusade before getting back to the bizarrely optimistic despair that is its stock in trade. But today brings us back to pants, and puts a whole new spin on things! Ziggy is visiting his wizened dry cleaner, who offers to give back the gnomish alopeciac’s trousers — along with his Nehru jacket, a garment that went out of style many years ago. Thus, this panel turns our scorn back upon us. Pants are so out of date, it seems to be saying. Maybe you narrow-minded losers are walking around, your thighs unfairly constricted by fabric tubes; but Ziggy is the new model man, his legs exposed to the open air, as is the style here in the future. You squares with the pants can do what you want. Ziggy won’t be having any of it.

Wizard of Id, 12/18/09

Hurl all the epithets you want at the Wizard of Id — “unfunny,” “irrelevant,” “badly drawn,” “minimizes torture” — but one thing you have to give it credit for is its unflinching attitude towards alcohol. While Hi and Lois, for instance, has gone along to get along, with “Thirsty” Thurston’s gin blossom-scarred nose of old having long ago vanished, the Wizard of Id’s Bung remains on the funny pages as an unrepentant alcoholic, and not the fun, charming kind. Today, for instance, we learn that, in the brief period of time after he awakes from his booze-numbed slumber but before he can stumble down to the bar to start drinking again, his hands are shaking so badly due to the lack of alcohol that he injures himself while attempting to attend to basic grooming. This may shock and horrify you, but anything that leads to awkward conversations along the lines of “Daddy, what’s the DTs?” is OK in my book.

Six Chix, 12/18/09

Speaking of horror, there’s something quite touching about this scene, in which ephemeral snow-lovers trade a last few endearments even as their bodies droop and melt.

Mark Trail, 12/18/09

Sheriff Stogie Q. Doublechin is right! That is a good one! What kind of monster leaves a little boy trapped under a car on the beach? How the hell does a car even get onto a beach on the first place? And would anyone leave a child in the care of this obvious lunatic? No, the sheriff doesn’t think he’ll be following that lead, than you very much. He’ll just stay here with his thumbs hooked into his belt and glare at you there in your cage, mister! Haw haw!

Note just what a state Mark is in, with no less than five hairs somewhat out of place. This is really the most desperate we’ve ever seen him.

Crock, 12/18/09

So, uh, the Lost Patrol, after years of all-male company, has been saved by water and masturbatory fodder? Eh, why not, it’d hardly be the most distasteful Crock ever produced.