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.
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.
For reasons that I cannot explain, terrible hillbilly stereotype Snuffy Smith and his kin have been popping up more frequently than usual here of late. Thus, I suppose it’s appropriate to preface this week’s COTW with a couple of interesting bits of Snuffiana from readers. First up is the title sequence from the (hopefully short-lived) Snuffy Smith animated cartoon, in which the title character lets loose a series of squawks that will haunt your dreams:
When you hear “Aw Aw AWWW” in your head over and over again for the next six to eight weeks, you can thank faithful reader Muffaroo.
Since surely that’s only whetted your appetite for all things Snuffy, I now present to you, thanks to faithful reader Jeff and the good folks at Archive.org, the first Snuffy Smith full-length film, 1942’s Private Snuffy Smith, in which our hero joins the army to defeat the forces of Fascism and make the world safe for democracy escape the revenuers.
Even the comely she-rustic in the first scene couldn’t get me through more than five minutes of this, but perhaps you’ll have more stamina. Sadly, Archive.org has not archived this film’s sequel, the awesomely titled Hillbilly Blitzkrieg.
Also, in non-Snuffy Smith news, faithful reader Proco was kind enough to send some scans from The Comics: An Illustrated History of Comic Strip Art, a 1974 book he picked up at a used book sale. Please enjoy this 1959 strip, in which Mary Worth smugly enjoys the debasement of her defeated enemy Connie, only to stiffen in shock when the woman tries to touch her.
And now, with all that out of the way: the COMMENT OF THE WEEK!
“Do you think Mark even knows that he’s married? Maybe he’s holding out hope that Cherry, like most of the other visitors in his home, will eventually regain her strength and find her way back to her natural habitat. That look in the last panel seems to say ‘Oh, no! That one’s still here! And her scent is beginning to attract others of her species.'” –One-Eyed Wolfdog
And the runners up:
“So the moral of this years Curtis Kwanzaa fable is ‘if you don’t want to vomit three-eyed frogs, be sure to feed cheese to the tree stump.’ It’s like Aesop, if he’d suffered a catastrophic head wound and developed aphasia.” –fillmoreeast
“A chair with a purse perched atop it screams ‘Bachelor’ to Margo? That may explain why she’s still unmarried. And I don’t mean because furniture shouts at her, although that’s also not a bad explanation for a lot of things about Margo.” –DaveyK
Spider-Man: “No Electro! Don’t Electrocute me! And no, Murdero! Don’t Murder me! But as for you, Fellatio…” –lettuce
“Oh, Harry. These kids are in Funky Winkerbean. They know they’re not invulnerable to anything.” –Just Me
“Man, that Frank Griffin sure doesn’t give a lot, does he? The absolute farthest he is willing to go is ‘I didn’t want Greg to die.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lynn. I didn’t necessarily specifically wish for your only friend to die horribly per se. I would have been perfectly content to see him, say, imprisoned or shot into space.'” –Violet
“I do have to applaud Moy for making Frank such a cartoonishly horrible person that we cheer for Mary and her meddling, life-wrecking ways. That’s art, man.” –Zaq
“Reference to Hootin’ Holler + reference to Mark and bestiality + owl’s knowing look = Kruegeresque nightmares lasting well into the spring.” –Patrick
“Sam Driver, the Deepak Chopra of total emotional insensitivity, is giving us a master class in numbness right there in panel 3. ‘Yeah, yeah … face, knife … uh-huh … sounds rough … Say, is there a Jamba Juice around here?'” –Joe Blevins
“What? Mark Trail isn’t written and directed by David Lynch? Then what’s with the weird perspective, the improbable plot twists, the lack of coherent narrative, the leeringly evil mustachioed villains, the wooden and emotionally castrated protagonist, the goofy old men proffering incomprehensible wisdom, the talking animals, and the inscrutable floating Jack Elrod ball? Oh — and the misshapen, lumpen-headed children!?!” –Comrade Denny
“I still think Patty has pubic lice. And if she thinks Mark and Cherry will be any help, she’s crazy. They are both hairless below the neckline, and their blood is pale green and fatal to inverts. That’s why Mark never has to worry about ticks.” –Poteet
“If that box contains a Tiffany engagement ring, it’s the biggest one known to man. Hopefully Eric will hire a sherpa to accompany Margo everywhere and support her bejeweled hand.” –left of the pyle
“Tess’s geometric earlobes match her planar mono-tooth. If I weren’t a real person, I’d totally date her. She’s the most perfect creature ever to escape from 2-dimensional Euclidean space.” –Squid Vicious
“I don’t follow Mark Trail except when it’s posted here, so I may have missed something, but what the hell happened to that kid who looked like Howdy Doody: The Dark Side? Rusty, I think his name was. Did he just wander off into the woods and die? Did Andy eat him? Did our hero chalk it up to natural selection because the kid’s hair wasn’t glossy and rigid enough for the standards of the Lost Forest?” –Calvinball Forever!
“Even more lovable than the baby blue smocks is the featureless subway car and the utterly blank station sign. It’s as if to say, ‘Downtown 4 Express Train to Nowhere, Nowhere At All. Much like all of your careers. And your acrid marriage, Leroy.'” –teddytoad
“I think Lois’ meeting is with the local community theater group … judging from her hat, she’s playing the role of ‘Nipple #2.'” –thehollis
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