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Six Chix, 11/20/08

As there seems to be some confusion over the meaning of this cartoon among this blog’s commentors, allow me to explain: our current economic crisis, the author posits, has the same roots as previous crises, and had we only remembered the lessons of history, we would have been able to avoid it. The two young ladies symbolize us, their falling asleep in their history class (presumably collegiate and taking place in a large lecture hall, the doors to which are at the right of the panel) represents our inability to learn from the past, and their barrel-wearing state represents poverty, the end result of the current crisis. The last bit is true because people who are clothed only by large, wooden barrels are a Universal Comics Symbol For Poverty of long standing.

I’m completely uninterested in discussing the didactic content of this cartoon, but it does bring up a question I’ve always found completely fascinating, which is: why are large, wooden barrels the Universal Comics Symbol For Poverty? I mean, I know I’m a decadent 21st century denizen who has grown accustomed to wearing garments that in relative terms cost very little, thanks to helpful Southeast Asian children with tiny, nimble fingers — certainly less than a finely crafted barrel. But is it possible that there was a time when a sturdy, wooden barrel with metal … circular dealies … that hold it together (boy, I hadn’t realized how weak a grasp I had of basic barrel vocabulary until just now) was actually cheaper than, you know, clothes? Did people really go into some kind of old-timey second-hand clothes store, sell all of their clothes (including the ones they were wearing), then walk, stark naked, up the street to the cooper (see, there’s a word that I know) to buy a barrel to wear, and have enough cash left over to afford life’s necessities? Did that happen? Because if not then, you know, barrels, what the hell?

Apartment 3-G, 11/20/08

A lot of people excuse the things they say or do when drunk by claiming that the demon booze made you say or do them; but when you’re intoxicated, you really just yourself, with less of a filter. This should make however many “Margo expounds drunkenly” strips we’re going to be treated to utterly delicious. Today, we learn that Margo really resents having to identify corpses, especially the corpses of people that she didn’t get a chance to kill, and that she believes that the intensity of your feelings about a tragedy are directly proportional to your proximity to the location where it occurred.

Ziggy, 11/20/08

Oh, Ziggy! It does seem unjust that the author of a beloved and hugely successful series of novel should get so much more money than the creator of a beloved somewhat tolerable bald pantsless cartoon character, doesn’t it?

Some of you have mocked this panel for being so far behind the times, to which I say: it’s Ziggy. The last Harry Potter book came out only fifteen months ago. This is in fact shockingly current.

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Apartment 3-G, 11/19/08

So, that killjoy Lu Ann has finally left town, and we all know what that means — BOOZE PARTY IN APARTMENT 3-G, WOO-HOO! Even though it probably won’t end with drunken makeouts, it will still be the greatest: Margo will go on at length about all the men she’s ever slept with and all the men she’s ever killed (the two lists have significant overlap), Ruby will giggle girlishly and tell increasingly humiliating stories about how stupid Lu Ann was as a little girl, and Tommie will sit on the couch staring blankly ahead with her collar buttoned up to the very top button.

Mary Worth, 11/19/08

Oh my God, Mary and Lynn’s hands are about to touch in panel one. Hot … HOTT. Unfortunately, something happened in panel two that worried Mary. We know it must be something serious, because Mary’s far too unflappable to be startled by a little bold font, but I’m at a loss to say what it might be. Is Lynn spontaneously urinating with grief all over the bed? I guess I’ll be forced to tune in tomorrow to find out! And then back to the hand touching.

Mark Trail, 11/19/08

Oh, Rabbit! With each panel in today’s strip, your sneer gets more twisted with hate for everyone — hate for Mark Trail and his lucky punches, hate for your long-suffering wife who always complains about you spending all your time chaining raccoons to logs, hate for this fancy businessman who just thinks he can buy and sell you, which is all the more galling because he can — and yet you work your way further into my heart. I won’t be sorry when your blue baseball cap goes flying through the air again, three to six weeks from now, but I’ll still feel a little bad about your failed search for a place in a world you never made.

By the way, if Charlie gave me an offer like the one he’s giving Rabbit here, this is how I’d go about things:

1. Take the $2,500.
2. Give Mark $2,000 to leave town.
3. Get the other $2,500.
4. Use $3,000 to hire a production company to pitch “Dog vs. Raccoon” to the Discovery Channel, Versus, or ESPN 3.

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Crock, 11/18/08

You know, I’ve become accustomed to being unamused, irritated, or actively angered at the jokes in Crock; but I’m a little unsettled at being completely befuddled by the jokes in Crock, as I am today. Passing over the oddity of someone insulting an immobile desert plant for spending all day in the sun, what on earth are we to make of the cactus’s riposte? Is it meant to mock us for driving, as if the only way to get out of the sun is to drive to shade? Is “sitting all day at four bucks a gallon” a reference to all the time we sit in our cars, which is a choice we make, whereas a cactus must spend the day in the sun due to biological necessity? Is there a heretofore unexplored traffic problem around the Foreign Legion outposts in the Maghrebi desert?

Anyway, normally I’d see something like a giant orange cactus and think “Ha ha, another colorist screw-up!” But in this case, I think it might be an attempt to distract the reader from the nonsensical punchline.

Mark Trail, 11/18/08

Oh my God, if you work at a newspaper, and/or have access to newspaper layout software, and you can create a fake newspaper front page like the one in panel one — with FAMOUS CONSERVATIONIST RESCUES RACCOON screaming across six columns of type, and an enormous picture of Mark and Sneaky, and what appears to be some kind of sidebar story in the rightmost column (“Mysterious ‘Rabbit’ Unrepentant, Soggy”) — then you will be my personal hero. Well, one of my personal heroes, anyway, because right now my personal hero is Jack Elrod, for not letting this story end with a single punch but rather setting up further punching opportunities by having our two villains join forces. I’m particularly in love with the image of Charlie cruising around the rough part of town (or the local gas station, whatever) looking for a raccoonnapping yokel with a chip on his shoulder and a bruise on his jaw.

Funky Winkerbean, 11/18/08

The next two to four weeks of Funky Winkerbean, in a nutshell: HOLY CRAP GIRLS PLAY SPORTS NOW smirking, foreboding

Crankshaft, 11/18/08

The next two to four weeks of Crankshaft, in a nutshell: HOLY CRAP GIRLS DRIVE BUSES NOW smirking, terrible puns