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Blondie, 7/12/09

I’ve often wondered at the obviously complex relationship between Dagwood and Mr. Dithers. For a while, I thought that Dithers was really Dagwood’s millionaire father, who disowned him when he decided to marry low-class flapper Blondie (this is the strip’s pre-Depression backstory, FYI) but who was never able to cut the kid out of his life completely, and so has kept him employed despite his obvious incompetence. I don’t think that’s true, but it’s hard to tell exactly what keeps these two together, not just professionally but socially as well. Today at least hints at the source of their codependence: their relationship provides the sort of dramatic highs and lows, the anger and catharsis, that their stable, happy, and boring home lives never could.

Normally, of course, I’d be imputing some kind of sexual relationship or tension here, but it’s obvious to anyone who reads Blondie that the only kind of thing that stirs Dagwood’s loins involves pastrami and lots of mustard.

Crock, 7/12/09

As a regular reader of the shambling nightmare that is Crock, the core grotesqueries of this particular strip — that the dog intends to urinate on the cactus as an act of malice, and that the cactus can bend on its own accord and fire off its spines as defensive missiles — come as no surprise to me. I am a little perturbed to learn that the camel’s name is “Quench.” I understand that there is a certain conceptual nexus between camels and water-drinking, but it doesn’t seem quite right; it’d be better as the name of a robot that, in an ill-conceived promotional exercise, can morph into a bottle of the new Quench™ brand sport energy drink, in the upcoming Paramount/Dreamworks film Transformers 3: Revenge of the Thirsty.

Oh, and the camel is wearing a hat, which is also inappropriate.

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Funky Winkerbean, 7/11/09

NOOOO! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR! IT’S … ZOMBIE WALLY, COME TO EAT YOUR BRAINS HAPPINESS!

No, seriously, this whole week has been full of foreboding and doom, and since we all know that nobody in the history of Funky Winkerbean can ever be happy, and since there’s been all sorts of weird hints about it, obviously Wally has been held secretly captive in Iraq for 10 years, or 5 years, or whatever mishmosh of space-time has passed since the big jump, and now he’s come back to find that his wife has remarried, and everyone involved — Becky, Wally, John, Wally Jr. — is going to be absolutely devastated no matter how it all plays out. It’ll be just like Isaac Bashevis Singer’s Enemies, A Love Story, except not good.

Mary Worth, 7/11/09

NOOOO! DON’T LOOK BACK, DELILAH! DON’T MAKE EYE CONTACT! YOU’LL BE DOOMED! DOOMED!

God bless Mary Worth for really bringing the laughs this week. Today’s second panel is particularly hilarious. The gears in Charley’s head are spinning furiously; he seems to have consulted some mid-century text on how to have a socially appropriate interaction with someone that doesn’t make it obvious that you’re just trying to bang whomever you’re talking to, and he suddenly remembered, about 45 seconds after the conversation actually ended, that you’re apparently supposed to mention that you look forward to your next encounter with your interlocutor. Meanwhile, Mary looks like a grim-faced Marine escorting a civilian prisoner out of some sort of war zone. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands now. Once we get back to base, though, you’ll have to undergo an extensive debriefing to see we can glean any useful intelligence from your contact with that enemy subject.”

Dennis the Menace, 7/11/09

The real menace here, of course, is the suffocating nanny state, which has filled Dennis’s head from birth with such emasculating nonsense as “steps should be taken while traveling via motor vehicle to reduce the chances of being horribly killed.” Now Dennis can’t even enjoy red-blooded American sports like being trampled to death by horses!

Oh, and hey! Even though I didn’t post yesterday, it still was a very important moment: it was the fifth anniversary of the very first post on this blog. Have I really been doing this thing for five years? Mercy! Huge thanks to all of you, new readers and old alike, for your constant support and affection, without which I surely would have given this up in despair long ago. And special thank for the reminder of my agedness to longtime faithful reader Mooncity, creator of the Autumn Lake Webcomic, who whipped up the following charming graphic for the occasion:

To be fair, it’s also possible that people aren’t following the site because they haven’t heard of it — yet. If you know some non-ninny who might enjoy it, send them the link, won’t you?

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Mary Worth, 7/10/09

Bless you, Charley Smith! Bless your stripey shirt and your $11 haircut and your transparent attempt to work your way into Delilah’s insane pants! Bless you for showing us a side of Mary Worth that we’ve never seen before — something bordering on flustered panic, as she sees her meddlee slipping out of her grasp and, in desperation, physically drags her to safety. I love the fact that Mary is continuing with the verbal niceties of a normal, polite conversation, despite the fact that she’s practically breaking her poor boarder’s wrist in a desperate attempt to save her from her own horny misjudgment. I’m pretty sure in the final panel she’s on the verge grabbing Charley’s phone number away from Delilah with her teeth and eating it to prevent the two of them from ever communicating again.

Gil Thorp, 7/10/09

This, on the other hand, I do not care for. You want Gil to coach baseball? Don’t you remember how boring that was during actual baseball season? The whole point of the summer storylines are to get away from that sort of thing. I suppose it might be acceptable if Gil is put in charge of a team of impoverished, ill-mannered youths with sassy mouths, and if an embittered Shep Trumbo comes to games dressed as a hobo just to harass them.

Apartment 3-G, 7/10/09

Even with all the Tibet-themed madness that’s been going on in this strip for months, if you had asked me what celebrity would make a special guest appearance in Apartment 3-G, the Dalai Lama would not have been my first guess. I don’t buy his claim that his English not so good — he’s deploying a semicolon, after all, which is at least an intermediate-level move. No, I think that the real reason for his quick exit is that’s he’s afraid to share narrative space with Margo, and with good reason. I imagine that the powerful combination of arousal and terror that anyone would feel in her presence would make it very difficult to maintain a Buddhist sense of non-attachment.