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Gil Thorp, 12/10/09

People like to complain about Gil Thorp’s fractured narrative, with the action typically jumping to three different times and places over three panels. I admit that following along can sometimes be an expert-level skill, but I think it’s well worth the effort. How else could we get the triptych of awesome that we’re treated to today? In panel one, shadowy, faraway figures discuss the comeuppance Jamaar’s hubris has earned him, as we are encouraged to contemplate somebody’s capri pants and hindquarters; in panel two, we get the second glimpse this week of Gil radiating pure smugness at poor Goshen coach “Beardy” Fazio, as he offers a manly handshake that says “Ha ha, our best players are suspended or moping and we still kicked your ass”; and, finally, in panel three we can enjoy a glimpse of the boozy lead-in to Gil and Mimi and Coach Kaz and Kelly’s twice-monthly orgy, with the roaring fireplace set into the Thorp’s all-formstone wall setting the mood nicely.

Spider-Man, 12/10/09

You know, newspaper Spider-Man, the main pleasure I derive from reading you generally comes from cruelly deriding your inept storytelling; thus, when you decide to give up and fully embrace camp, as you seem to have done today, it kind of ruins it for me. At least I can snicker at the fact that your freakishly out-of-proportion stand-up vacuum cleaner appears to be roughly eight feet tall.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/10/09

The most interesting thing about today’s strip … no, not those, you cartoon-masturbating-to pervert, get your mind out of the gutter. Ahem. The other interesting thing about today’s strip is Rex’s silent, plaintive face in the background of panels one and two. It’s like he knows that this is June’s cousin so she’s in charge at the moment, but he’s still all “Hello! I have something dickish and self-righteous to say about this situation! Anyone want to hear it? Anyone?”

Dick Tracy, 12/10/09

“Step one: Buy a rare and expensive objet d’art! Step two: Wait for it to appreciate in value, which it will hopefully do more quickly than the equivalent amount of money would have if put into a more typical investment portfolio! Step three: Sell at a profit! It can’t fail! MU HA HA HA HA!”

The place where the Jumble should be, 12/10/09

This is the third day in the row on which the Jumble has failed to appear on the Houston Chronicle’s online comics page. What are they hiding from us? This is an outrage! NO JUMBLE NO PEACE!

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Mark Trail, 12/9/09

Oh, yeah, there’s an “old store” “a little way back,” surrre, Mark. I’m pretty sure that this is where the rationalizing about abandoning Rusty to be drowned/eaten begins. “He can’t feel his foot, that means gangrene has probably started to set in … a boy with only one leg can’t survive in the wild, it would be cruel to get him out now. And I’m sure drowning after the tide raises the water level up inch by inch over a matter of hours until it’s above your head is a very relaxing way to go — why, you probably don’t even notice it! Now, to hitchhike back to Lost Forest. I’ll tell everyone Rusty was taken in by a family of friendly swamp folk, I’m sure they’ll buy it.”

Phantom, 12/9/09

So, as a surprise to nobody, Mrs. The Phantom was not actually killed by a terrorist bomb, but has instead been secretly thrown into prison in some case of deliberate mistaken identity. Today’s installment is notable mostly because it seems to indicate that V for Vendetta has come up on somebody’s Netflix queue.

Pluggers, 12/9/09

Pluggers know that the love of an adorable moppet is a load of crap when compared to sweet, sweet, life-giving pills.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/8/09

Uh-oh, it looks like the Morgan household has got a case of the squatters! And they’re slobs, too, and one of them is a busty blonde who looks capable of at least briefly experiencing joy — exactly the sort of person that June is most likely to skewer with one of her patented soul-freezing glares.

You know, sometimes when I return to my house, I have the strange, unbidden thought that perhaps I’ve passed into a parallel universe where I don’t exist, and someone else will be living there. I wonder if something like this has happened to the Morgans — if their cruise ship accidentally passed through the Bermuda Triangle or something, and now they’ve returned to a town exactly like the one they left, except nobody’s ever heard of them. This would guarantee hilariousness, as virtually everything this power couple does is based on an overwhelming sense of their own entitlement. The anger and befuddlement that will ensue when their increasingly plaintive cries of “But don’t you know who we are?” are met with honest “No”s will be delicious.

Archie, 12/8/09

A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, especially for an emergent cybernetic consciousness. It’s been long established that the Archie Joke-Generating Laugh Unit 3000, the massive computer that creates the Archie newspaper comic, is connected to the Internet and aware of this blog; but now it appears to have decided that I am its primary audience, and is specifically filling its strip with things that unsettle and amuse me, including people gazing lovingly at their own image on computer monitors and creepy furries whose deranged eyes glow out from the otherwise inky black maw of their fursuits.

Still, the AJGLU 3000 deserves credit for adding some character development to this strip. In most iterations of the Archie mythos, Reggie exists solely as an arrogant, egotistical foil and occasional romantic rival to Archie. However, as depicted by the AJGLU 3000, when he’s behind his (Reggie-themed-photo festooned) editorial desk, he does seem determined to do a halfway credible job of running the school newspaper, an attitude worthy of praise. Of course, this being Reggie, he’s probably only doing it because he believes that a career in print journalism is his ticket to power and influence; this is misguided, but not as misguided as Archie’s apparent belief that a career in print journalism is his ticket to sex with cheerleaders.

Hi and Lois, 12/8/09

Ever since the real-estate market imploded, Lois has had little to do with her time other than hang out at the mall with her fellow realtors and talk about which mood-altering pills are the most fun and which crooked doctors will prescribe them.