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Mary Worth, 10/29/09

I would appreciate anyone who could help explain exactly what the hell I’m looking at in panel two. It seems that the effect intended is “dramatic camera angle shot from just behind Scott’s shoulder, for some reason,” but everything’s also skewed at an angle that makes it look like Adrian and Scott are villains in the Adam West Batman TV show (if only), so it’s sort of hard to look at it and not see Scott’s chest as kind of rising up and his head tilted back. My interpretations: either Adrian is disconnecting Scott from the machines keeping him alive and forcibly dragging his dying form to the altar, or he’s convulsing at her very touch in a desperate attempt to escape their impending matrimony.

Mark Trail, 10/29/09

You know, Sassy gets a lot of crap from you people, but she and she alone seems to realize that Mark is on the verge of leaving the swamp without physically assaulting anybody, and is thus taking matters into her own itty-bitty paws. I’m assuming that we’re going to get the overly complicated plot-sequence of “Sassy almost gets eaten by alligators, Mark rescues her, Mark spots poachers while out and about,” or maybe even “Sassy almost gets eaten by alligators, Rusty rescues her, Rusty gets captured by poachers, Mark must rescue them both,” for all you Rusty-in-peril fans. I’d sort of like to see a version that cuts out the middle steps, where the poachers spot Sassy and recognize that her beautifully spotted off-tan pelt would make a charming muff. Fortunately, Mark’s ability to hear piteous mewling at a distance is superhuman.

Family Circus, 10/29/09

It seems that we’re only now seeing the consequences of the Keane’s decision to keep any and all information about sex and procreation out of the Kompound. Clearly Dolly believes that her parents “made” her baby brothers Jeffy and PJ out of clay or some other random crap they had lying around the house, though looking at them you can hardly blame her.

Pluggers, 10/29/09

Think what you will about this installment of Pluggers, but it can’t be worse than my initial misinterpretation, in which a starving, impoverished dog-man was about to eat a lint-covered hot dog he found underneath his couch cushion for lunch.

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Spider-Man, 10/28/09

I’ll admit that I’ve been disappointed with Bigshot as a sinister adversary, as his name seems to indicate only his somewhat larger than average girth and his sole apparent superpower is the ability to wear that suit without self-consciousness. But now we’re beginning to see that below the surface of cheerful good-natured criminality lurks almost unspeakable depravity. In order to force the reformed Sandman to return to his life of crime, Bigshot has kidnapped the mutant’s daughter — an obvious and time-tested tactic. Presumably Sandman will rob a bank or two, little Sandy will be released unharmed, and everyone’s comes out a winner, right?

But wait, what’s this? Is Bigshot having is awful minions pollute li’l Sandy’s mind … with literacy? Imagine the scene: Poppa Sandman’s all like, “Hey, Sandy, let’s tune in to NBC to watch the hilarious and insightful Jay Leno, just like we do every weekday at 10 pm!” but then Sandy’s all “No way, dad! I’m still working my way through this week’s New York Review of Books!” And just like that, a once-solid father-daughter relationship begins to founder. Bigshot, you are a monster.

Momma, 10/28/09

Upon reading this strip, my first thought was, “Hey, Danny is supposed to be one of Francis’s no-good friends, right?” This implies some kind of intriguing family drama here, with Marylou going after (and by “going after” I mean “attempting to strangle”) a member of her little (?) brother’s coterie of losers. I was just about to start plumbing the depths of my archives or the Chronicle’s pages to confirm Danny’s identity, but then I had an epiphany: I had spent the maximum reasonable amount of time thinking about Momma today. Sure, this whole comics thing is fun now, but when you’re trying to cross-reference the identities of Momma’s mushy scribbles — and then, once you do, maybe update the strip’s Wikipedia page with your findings, just in case you or the Internet community at large has need of this data in the future — well, that’s when people start staging interventions.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 10/28/09

I’m sorry, residents of Hootin’ Holler would have to trudge three or four miles down rocky hillsides to the flatlands in order to get any kind of advanced schoolin’, so I refuse to believe that any resident of this impoverished hamlet would be able to deal with advanced math like “fractions” — or, for that matter, to form coherent thoughts without verbalizing them.

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Luann, 10/27/09

I spent more time than I’d care to admit trying, really trying, to make sense of the final panel in this strip in terms of fiber’s well-known effects on the human digestive system. Do the bran muffins separate people because said people need to scurry away from each other to take a dump? Or is there farting involved, which also can reduce people’s tolerance for proximity? Or … but then I realized that I was expending valuable brain energy on figuring out a damn Luann joke that wasn’t ultimately going to be very rewarding, and dwelling on tasteless ass jokes to boot, so I stopped.

I blame Marvin for the poop joke fixation.

Anyway, I’d like to point out that anybody who actually implements Papa DeGroot’s community-building idea will find his house pelted with eggs, toilet paper, and puzzle pieces in short order.

Herb and Jamaal, 10/27/09

Fortunately, today’s Herb and Jamaal has required no such overthinking process. Ha ha, Herb’s mother-in-law has dumped an entire pot of scalding chili on his genitals! Oh, how it must burn! Ha ha! Note that, thanks to Herb’s total commitment to awkwardly setting up lame jokes over multiple panels, he’s heroically cagey enough to leave the payoff for the end, even as his flesh sizzles.

Crankshaft, 10/27/09

The worst thing … wait, no, that’s not something I think that can really be quantified. Let me start again: One of the terrible things about living with Crankshaft is his unapologetic racism. Pam can’t have any of her friends of Celtic extraction over to visit, because she knows her father will lurk about, muttering audibly about “filthy potato-eaters.”