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Family Circus, 10/8/09

If you’re like me (which is to say the sort of person who Thinks Too Much About Things, and is a little OCD), your first response upon seeing the numbers in today’s Family Circus was to whip out the old calculator, Billy-style, and see what kind of timeframe we’re talking about. 4,206 days is 11 years and 191 days! And one of the reasons I was curious about this figure is that I’m never entirely clear on how old any of the Keane Kids are supposed to be. It’s hard to tell, given their gnomish stature and obvious cognitive deficits, but, assuming that kids are still getting their license at 16 like they traditionally have, today’s numbers put Billy at four and a half years old, which struck me as wildly off, considering he’s supposed to be the oldest of four, and he and his little sister both go to school. Then I realized that there was a sure-fire way to determine Billy’s canonical age: the “drawn by Billy” panels, which, after a bit of searching through my archives, yielded up the crucial bit of data: Billy is 7, and so appears to be proclaiming that he won’t be getting his driver’s license until he’s 18 or maybe even 19! I feel bitter for him making me think about this as much as I have, but at least I get to point out that he either cheerfully expects to repeatedly fail his drivers test, or is incapable of doing math, even with a calculator.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 10/8/09

Speaking of things that irritate me all out of proportion to their actual transgressions, why does Barney Google and Snuffy Smith think we need a title card informing us that we’re going “shoppin’ wif th’ Tuttles”? Do they think that we’ll be dangerously disoriented by seeing the strip’s trademarked dialectical banter thrown about by a pair of risible hillbilly stereotypes who aren’t part of the strip’s core cast? Please, give us some credit. Most readers will see vaguely old-timey rustics crackin’ wise and droppin’ Gs from the ends of gerunds, smile wanly, and move on with their lives without troubling themselves to place the narrative in some larger context; Snuffy Smith devotees, meanwhile, will immediately recognize Hootin’ Holler’s sole pastor, and will be pleased to see that he remains a money-grubbing fraud.

Mary Worth, 10/8/09

Good lord, in the second panel, Dr. Jeff looks less like a father rushing to his daughter’s side to comfort her in her time of need and more like the leader of an angry vigilante mob, or perhaps like a majestic but enraged lowland gorilla. It’s almost as if he’s hoping that he’ll spot a heroin dealer or user on his drive to the hospital and have the opportunity run them down with his car. I was wondering why he was so worked up, but then remembered that Scott is, of course, the son of Dr. Jeff’s one true love. I can’t wait to see the bloody revenge he wreaks on Santa Royale’s comically dressed underworld!

Marvin, 10/8/09

Ah ha, I finally figured out what this week-long feces-plot is really getting at: it’s Marvin’s origin story! “And from that day on, the world knew him as … THE PANTS-SHITTER!”

Apartment 3-G, 10/8/09

Isn’t Margo’s dad supposed to be some rich businessman? Shouldn’t he be able to afford enough Just For Men to dye the hair on the sides of his head as well?

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Pluggers, 10/7/09

Dum de doo, let’s see what folksy bit of lower-middle-class reactionary agitprop Pluggers has for us today AAAHHH TERRIFYING DEMON GOAT FROM THE PIT OF HELL ITSELF! All apologies to faithful reader True Fable and other known goat-a-philes, but this fellow looks a little bit too much like Baphomet for my taste. I believe that’s actually a mummified goat head that “Bernie Lange” wears as a mask for human sacrifices.

Satanism aside, what exactly is today’s Pluggers ostensibly indicating to us? That some pluggers have long, scraggly beards? I find this troubling, but it is true that with the aging of the Baby Boomer generation, the plugger and old hippie demographics will only continue to overlap, a long-term trend that’s much more unsettling that the fleeting dalliance between pluggers and hipsters.

Marmaduke, 10/7/09

Ha ha, the STIMULUS PACKAGE, am I right, folks? It looks like Marmaduke saw what a great job other cartoons did with stimulus package jokes and decided to follow up, on its own inscrutable schedule. Like Shoe’s Roz, Marmaduke appears to have ordered some kind of extra-large vibrator, or perhaps a device that electrically stimulates his victims’ flesh, the better to tenderize it before he devours them.

Marvin, 10/7/09

I know that it’s profoundly not news when Marvin makes jokes about shitting, but this week we’re being treated to an epic multi-day story arc — one that’s really impressive in its scope — about how one of Marvin’s associates has taken a huge dump in his pants and how the entire day care smells like feces, much to everyone’s disgust. The smell of poop is so bad that it’s threatening to blind Marvin, and it’s only Wednesday, so I can’t wait to see what heights of turd-focused drama we’ll see by the end of the week.

Hi and Lois, 10/7/09

Notice all the extra whitespace in Trixie’s thought balloon in panel one; does this indicate that the original dialogue was changed at the last minute? Perhaps Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Enterprises LLC tried and failed to get the first ever “infant with a hangover” joke into America’s funny pages.

Ziggy, 10/7/09

The car that Ziggy wants to buy is attempting to commit suicide, for obvious reasons.

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Crock, 10/6/09

Poor uncultured Captain Poulet! He’s throwing around big words like “Platonic,” which means pretty much exactly the opposite of what it’s pretty clear that he thinks it means. Perhaps his only experience with Plato comes from reading The Symposium, and he thinks the evening is going to end in a drunken sodomistic orgy, though even in that case he seems to have seriously misunderstood some genders.

Oh, also, this lady is out on parole! This is “funny,” for some reason.

Apartment 3-G, 10/6/09

See, this is the difference between Ruby and Tommie. Ruby may be beaten down by the big city — she have been thrown over by a man she thought she was getting on well with for some pill-addled floozy — but she still knows that she’s worth something! In panel two, she looks mad about her lonely, unloved state. Screw you, New York! If you’re not good enough to appreciate Ruby, well, she’ll just go back to Texas, and you’ll be all the worse for it!

Tommie, meanwhile, is in the process of melting into a puddle of self-pity. The only thing keeping her standing upright is the fact that her coffee mug is mostly filled with Wellbutrin.

Jumble, 10/6/09

Speaking of pills, these women — one with a heavy-lidded expression, the other with eyes the size of dinner plates — appear to be having some kind of spontaneous little party in the shoe store, in which they’re stumbling around muttering about how “it’s like walking on marshmallows.” They are clearly high, on drugs.

Funky Winkerbean, 10/6/09

Now, Kayla, we know that you weren’t aware that Lisa’s ghost was spying on you when you and Les first made out, because you aren’t gifted with Creepy-o-Vision. But for the record, “Every peanut butter and jelly sandwich is like an edible tombstone for my dead wife and it must be made properly” is the part where you run screaming for the door and never look back.