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Family Circus, 1/15/09

I don’t have kids, so I have to turn to pop culture to find out what the quiet little moments of parenting are like. So, a question for you out there who have successfully reproduced: do you like to stand in the doorway of your kid’s room while he’s doing his homework, staring at him for hours while he pores over his multiplication tables or whatever, as you desperately try to will the knowledge into his brain, hoping against hope and all evidence thus far that he isn’t a drooling submoron but actually a vaguely competent person who will be able to earn enough to support you in your old age? And all the while, he’s sitting there, looking at his workbook but not really reading it, thinking, “Really? Are they just going to stand there, looking at me, until I finish this? Don’t they have hobbies? Don’t they have somewhere to be? How on earth am I supposed to concentrate? Maybe if I do some cheesy silent-movie ‘I’ve got an idea!’ move, they’ll go downstairs and watch TV!'” Because if that’s the case, that … that seems kind of creepy, is all.

Crock, 1/15/09

Ha ha, you see, it’s funny, because it wouldn’t make any sense for them to sing about a boat, because they’re in the middle of the desert … er … or maybe they’re on the beach … next to the ocean … where, um, a cow’s skull is floating…

OK, that’s the last straw. This, combined with this, has left me determined to get to the bottom of this coloring nonsense. Who colors this stuff? Do they not speak English? Do they hate their jobs, and/or the comics? I know you comics industry people lurk out there, so: do you draw a comic that gets colorized, or work for a newspaper or syndicate or something where coloring occurs? Write to me! I shall present my findings for the world’s edification!

Marmaduke, 1/15/09

Things are getting pretty bad over at the Marmaduke’s Ownerses. Mr. Owner can only sit rooted to the spot in terror, knowing that the moment he moves he’ll be torn to pieces by his man-killing dog. His wife, meanwhile, can’t even bring herself to say the word “Marmaduke,” terrified that she’ll attract his attention — and his ravenous appetite — if she does.

Mark Trail, 1/15/09

“I think Ken is in the lumber business, but she doesn’t talk about him! But I do often hear her talk about a man named ‘Buck,’ and she always seems very happy when she brings him up. I hate to cast aspersions on her, but maybe she’s having an affair with this ‘Buck’ fellow! Oh, also, did I mention she’s fucking a deer?”

Seriously, Mark Trail, I was going to lay off on the bestiality jokes, but if this is how you want to play, I say BRING IT.

Cherry and Mark, meanwhile, have marital problems of their own. Mark actually admitted to noticing Cherry’s different hair, so Cherry is pushing her luck by wearing her sexy electric blue western wear. This can only end in tears.

Shoe, 1/15/09

“Also, while Olivia and I were playing doctor, she got pregnant!”

(Seriously, I always thought Skyler was a little old to be playing house. I guess it’s hard to establish the ages of your characters when they’re mostly mouthpieces for wry jokes written by and for grownups, and also when they’re birds.)

Oh, and: all your votes did not go for naught! For I am your 2008 Weblog Awards Best Humor Blog winner! Here, here’s an enormous graphic announcing my victory:

I promise I will not harass you to vote for me again! Unless I get nominated for something else. THEN ALL BETS ARE OFF.

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Judge Parker, 1/14/09

If the Dixie Julep story has taught us anything, it’s that Judge Parker loves a violent blonde. But hopefully, as this story unfolds and we watch Sophie wreak a righteous, Carrie-style vengeance against snooty cheerleaders and everyone else who ever wronged her, we’ll learn that sometimes, the violent blondes are violent for a reason.

It’s worth noting that this storyline is part of Sophie’s continuing transformation, from a pantsuit-wearing prepubescent superbrain to a surly teenager with a hair-trigger temper. Said transformation has taken 14 months of real time, which is actually halfway realistic, but (and hopefully Uncle Lumpy can come up with the exact number) only about six days of strip time, which is less so. It’s possible that this shockingly rapid onset of puberty is precisely what’s causing her erratic and aggressive behavior.

Herb and Jamaal, 1/14/09

Having seen Jamaal trying to bust a move on Yolanda for much of the last four years, I can see why he doesn’t understand how Herb came to have a wife … or a daughter, for that matter. But a mother-in-law? “Gee, Jamaal, I don’t think I ever implied that my wife was grown in a lab.”

Apartment 3-G, 1/14/09

Hey, look, after three months, we’ve returned to Lu Ann in South Dakota! Last we saw her she was reconnecting with Cody Styles, and now she’s … reconnecting with Cody Styles. I’m beginning to form a theory about Apartment 3-G’s singular failure to follow Lu Ann’s prairie adventures: the producers have been unable to hire locals for extras at poverty rates, discovering to their surprise that these hardy midwesterners still have too much dignity to appear in this comic.

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Shoe, 1/13/09

Not to wax rhapsodic about the decline of any sense of community in American life beyond the bounds of commerce, but … shouldn’t this cartoon, in which someone ambushes a baffled person behind a desk with a pointless faux koan, be taking place in a library? Isn’t the venerable reference desk the place where corny unanswerable questions are thrown at stereotyped librarians? (In this case, for instance, we could have also gone with “Why do we drive on a parkway but park in a driveway,” or any number of other stupid things that your aunt may have forwarded you from her AOL account.) My first impression was that this little scene was instead playing out at your local Enormous Chain Bookstore, because … I’m not sure why. Maybe because the books have their covers facing out whorishly, practically shouting “Buy me! Buy me!” instead of being demurely tucked spine out onto the shelves like they are in the library stacks, where you can take them out or not, doesn’t matter to us. I see upon further examination that this place-where-books-exists is actually just labelled BOOKS, so it may in fact just be the books ghetto of your local Enormous General-Purpose Chain Store, where remaindered copies of Twilight and The Purpose-Driven Life and Oprah’s Book Club picks from 2006 go to die.

Wherever it’s taking place, it sheds no light on when exactly this wizard’s (whose name in the strip I think is merely “Wizard”) status as a wizard, which was once some kind of metaphor for his prowess in computer-fixing, actually became just, you know, a wizard. Doubtless it’s another random aspect of the Shoe universe, where bird-reporters and wizard-birds fly, or drive, or live in trees, or shop in BOOKS, because whatever, why not, who cares.

Beetle Bailey, 1/13/09

Never mind for the moment that Beetle and Sarge “play for the same team” or that Sarge has a “habit” of pushing Beetle down onto the ground from behind with a hardy (W)HUMP. No, I’m more concerned about the lower half of Beetle’s body … or rather, the lack of a lower half. In panel one, Sarge has squashed everything below about mid-thigh into two-dimensional nothingness; in panel two, it all seems to have just vanished entirely. Normally I’d blame this on the colorists, but given that Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Enterprises LLC has seen fit to only provide two vaguely football-player-like blobs floating in some kind of featureless void to work with, you can hardly blame them for doing thirty seconds of desultory clicking with Photoshop’s Paint Bucket tool and then moving on in disgust.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/13/09

Oh, Bull, you and your “supportiveness” and “fairness” and “hard-working athletes.” Don’t you and your feminazi friends realize that the whole point of high school sports is so that everyone concerned can secretly view the interaction of the boys on the court/field/what have you and the girls cheering on the sidelines as some sort of elaborate mating ritual? (They will view it this way repeatedly in their minds, later, in private.) Get ready for a treatment of teenage gay panic with that extra dash of bleak that only Funky Winkerbean can provide!

Mark Trail, 1/13/09

Jeez, Cherry, I dunno, maybe she left so quickly because she got within good viewing distance of your enormous, terrifying head. I’m sure if I were confronted with the vision in panel three, and then the hairline started talking to me, I’d get the hell out of there with considerably less politeness and aplomb than Patty did.