Post Content

Mark Trail, 1/9/09

“Dear Penthouse: I never thought this would happen to me, but one day I came home from a long trip early in the morning, with my dog Andy, and found my wife with both of her hands touching another lady! Andy is a St. Bernard! The lady who isn’t my wife was blonde, and my wife was wearing her robe! They leaped away from each other when I came in, and yet it still made me feel funny, somehow, as if I were seeing something unlawful! Andy sure is a good old dog! That’s why I take him on trips, instead of my wife! Later, my wife told me she had changed her hair, but I didn’t notice. I hope you print my letter! Sincerely, Mark Trail.”

Dick Tracy, 1/9/09

The current Dick Tracy plot is only just getting underway, but since it revolves around Tess attempting to market a Dick Tracy line of cosmetics, it may already the strip’s most laughable yet, since the Dick Tracy brand mostly consists of his impossibly square head and cheerful fascism. It’s appropriate that the final panel juxtaposes the phrase “doesn’t smell right” with a flaming house in which a scientist has just accidentally immolated himself, as the Dick Tracy cologne will smell mostly of seared human flesh.

Marmaduke, 1/9/09

When Marmaduke viciously claws at the eyes of random passersby, blinding them, his owner refers to his violent acts as “kisses.” I shudder to imagine her home life.

Oh, yes! Don’t forget:

(Thanks to Uncle Lumpy for the graphic! And vote for Ces and Medium Large, too!)

Post Content

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/8/09

Must I take on the burden of keeping comics within the bounds of their self-constructed universes? Look, the chances of Loweezy’s Gossipy Friend Whose Name I Neither Know Nor Care About being acquainted with the still-popular-but-no-longer-red-hot-enough-to-merit-pop-culture-namechecks TV program Gray’s Anatomy are pretty low, seeing as her community’s only contact with the outside world comes from the town’s few lovingly maintained Hoover-era radios. I suppose its a possible that a few of Hootin’ Holler’s more successful moonshiners acquired fancy tee-vee sets back in the day to tune into the Dumont Network; fortunately, after the switchover to digital broadcasting next month, we will be spared any more attempts on the part of Snuffy Smith to engage with modern television programming.

Frankly, I’m more concerned at the sight of a doctor cramming with a basic anatomy textbook just before an appointment. “OK, the hip bone’s connected to the leg bone, the leg bone’s connect to the … to the … damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have prescribed myself so many drugs during med school!”

Judge Parker, 1/8/09

Ah, so Sexy Heidi the Sexy Detective is turning to Sam not for sexy sex, but for emotional comfort. “Sam, I admire the way you just stood by bored and disinterested while we pumped that woman full of bullets. You’ve obviously learned to look death in the eye and not be touched by it, just as you’ve managed to remain detached from all other aspects of the human experience other than your own smug self-satisfaction. Can … can you teach me how not to feel?”

Mark Trail, 1/8/09

[INSERT PREDICTABLE AND DISTASTEFUL BUT COMPLETELY MANDATORY BESTIALITY JOKE HERE]

Post Content

So, throughout this whole Weblog Awards business, I’ve tried to take the high road, refusing to even acknowledge my competitors for the coveted Best Humor Blog award. I’m modeling my campaign on the greatest of American presidents, Warren G. Harding, who felt that traveling the country seeking votes was beneath his dignity, and instead just had voters shipped in to Ohio to watch him bloviate from his front porch (except I refuse to go out on my porch because it’s cold). However, as all campaigns will, this one has turned ugly, and now I’m going to have to dirty my hands a bit. It seems that one of my opponents, the so-called Bloggess, is spreading scurrilous rumors about me — namely, that I eat kittens and plan to celebrate my inevitable victory with a kitten feast. She’s even made a badge for those who won’t vote for her, and taken her dastardly lies to the Twitter, where I can’t fight back because I can’t even begin to understand the Twitter or how it works, but here’s a picture of those Twitter lies:

Anyway, I would like to state right now, for the record, that I would never, ever eat a kitten. I love all cats, as my own pampered kitty can attest. Instead, once my opposition has been crushed and the award that is rightfully mine has been handed to me, I will celebrate by eating babies.

Seriously, though, you should totally read her blog because it’s very hilarious! And please do not start a blog fight with her commentors! We can all be friends (as long as I win). And I’m not just saying that because she also writes for the Houston Chronicle and could maybe somehow cut me off from my custom comics page. Or because, according to the Twitter, she has naked pictures of me, somehow. And when you’re done enjoying her blog, come back and vote for me, which you can do every 24 hours. Because babies is delicious.

In other Weblog Awards news, Medium Large is, against all odds, within reach of third place in the Best Comic Strip category! Vote for Ces to get a bronze medal! It will help with his self-esteem!

IMPORTANT AD NEWS PLEASE READ THIS: In non-self-congratulatory news, I am about to restore the ads that I removed a couple of days ago. Please e-mail me if anything sketchy happens when you visit this site after this point (i.e. after 8:45 pm eastern time on 1/7) — pop-ups, weird redirects, etc. Thanks. UPDATE: Ads taken back down. Blech.