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Curtis, 1/28/08

Continuing on my residual fumes of Curtis-directed niceness, I have to say that I find Chutney’s exaggerated body posture in panel two really adorable. Panel four, on the other hand, disturbs and horrifies me: Curtis’ mouth appears to be sliding around the side of his uncannily ovoid head! Perhaps his mind and heart have finally opened up to the possibility of smooches from Chutney, but his mouth still won’t have any of it and is trying to escape.

Gasoline Alley, 1/28/08

The current Gasoline Alley plot, involving people who have never appeared in the strip before, surreptitious phone camera photography, and numerous end-runs around the grievance procedure laid out in the collective bargaining agreement between the U.S. Postal Service and the American Postal Workers Union, is, as you might expect, meandering and dull. But I have to admit that I love love love the exchange in panel one today. Any and all questions lobbed at me that are even vaguely along the line of “You know what your trouble is?” will be met with “The system” — though ending not with some lily-livered question mark but a defiant exclamation point.

Mark Trail, 1/28/08

Mark Trail’s nemeses are in fact just flying around to get a better shot; the fact that Mark is severely overthinking their motivation just goes to show how dumb Mark Trail villains are. Mark’s contingency plan is of course foolproof, since any jurisdiction that would release a suspect with overwhelming evidence damning him as murderer based on outrageously unlikely hearsay from Mark would of course do the same if said outrageously unlikely hearsay was scrawled on a piece of paper attached to a dog that wandered into the police station.

Anyway, I’m mostly posting this because I wanted to share a couple funny graphics sent by faithful readers. First up is this note from faithful reader Daniel:

While my wife asked ‘What are you planning to do today?’ I came up with this. I think it’s the most productive ten minutes I’ve spent since getting laid off last week. I figured people could print this sign out, and place it in their car windows, or at least xerox a dozen fliers and post them in their neighborhood. People need to know the facts!

Ha ha, all fun and games — or so you think. But this note and pic, from faithful reader Gal Friday, will blow your mind!

As seen at Sundance!!! What does it mean?!

It means that folks on future Wes Anderson productions need to watch their backs, that’s what.

Mary Worth, 1/28/08

So it turns out that maybe Vera didn’t summon her ex-boyfriend to this hell cafe for the sole purpose of having her new boyfriend beat him up; rather, she’s just too lazy to make dates in separate restaurants with her various bits of emotional baggage. She also appears to have planned a two-plus hour lunch or something — I’m sure that goes over well with the head honchos at Disturbing Lack Of Affect Ad Agency. Anyway, Ryan’s bizarre way-too-early appearance, combined with his weird neck fondle in panel one, spells C-R-E-E-P-S-T-E-R to me. Or maybe V-A-M-P-I-R-E.

Of course, I’m less and less concerned about these boring humans and more and more interested in the bizarre series of identical bright orange donuts/bagels/round whatevers behind them. When we first saw these sweet (or possibly savory) treats, they at least had shelves to sit on. Today they appear to be simply glued to the back of the display case, or possibly nailed there.

Family Circus, 1/28/08

Dolly’s ultra-smug facial expression shows that she’s feeling that deep sense of self-satisfaction that only reinforcing traditional societal gender constructs can provide.

Pluggers, 1/28/08

I was going to accuse Pluggers of just slapping a new caption on art first drawn for a submission from faithful reader gh, but a quick trip to my archives revealed that said panel actually featured an entirely different drawing of an entirely different human-animal hybrid species, albeit one also featuring polka-dot boxers and obesity. Turns out that the Pluggers creative team just likes drawing huge-gutted furries in their underwear. Who are we to judge?

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Marvin, 1/27/08

Non-redheaded persons who read this, heed my words! We redheaded folk may, as my hairdresser cheerfully informed me when I went to get a haircut last week, be going extinct, but like the mighty but doomed polar bear, we demand a certain degree of respect on the way out! For instance, in the matter of metaphorical color terms used to describe us, we are fine with the classic “redhead” or simply “red”; also acceptable are “ginger,” “rusty,” “strawberry blond” (for certain hues), and, if you’re feeling risque, “firecrotch.” “Raspberry” strikes me as a little off, and … tomato? Tomato? Please. Let’s never speak of this incident again.

Despite the totally radical and extreme dream-based snowboarding going on in most of this comic, due to its weird background the final panel is the only one in which it actually appears to be snowing. This implies that at some point in the middle of winter, Marvin’s parents put him and his bed outside while he was sleeping, a move that I very much approve of. Perhaps they chose to expose their child to the elements after one too many mornings waking up to the horrifying vision in the throwaway panel in the top row.

Mary Worth, 1/27/08

And Vera’s reign as the most normal person in the Drew-Dawn-Vera love triangle comes to an end … now. The weird generic blandness in the art here makes it unclear whether the clean-cut blondie in the final panel is supposed to be her brother Von or some new paramour, but either possibility is a weird enough choice for a get-together-with-an-old-flame meeting as to totally justify Dr. Drew’s epic head swivel in the final panel.

Turning to something with more personality than any of the humans in this scenario, let’s take a look at the sign being partially blocked by Drew’s brylcreemed noggin. I’m specifically intrigued by the top placard, which has a picture of some sort of white, foamy topping illustrating the exhortation to “ADD S[redacted]”. Since there’s enough room on the sign for one or two more letters, tops, and none of the synonyms for whipped cream that I can think of start with “S”, I’m kind of at a loss as to what it could be trying to tell us. My best guess: “ADD SIN”. Because whipped cream is sinfully delicious, you see!

Apartment 3-G, 1/27/08

“God damn it, this is an autumn shade, and I know I’m a spring! How many times do I have to tell myself — I should never go to the cosmetics counter when I’m drunk or high!”

The final panel of this strip walks a delicate line, giving Alan fans the beefcake they crave while sparing the rest of us the traumatic sight of Alan nipples.

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Judge Parker, 1/26/08

So the big interview with No-Legged War Hero Mama’s Boy Works-For-Nothing Steve is over, and it’s becoming more and more obvious that Gloria likes what she sees! Likes it so much, in fact, that she’s got to close her eyes in the final panel, because if she has to look at that hot hunk of filial piety for even one more minute, she can’t be held responsible for her actions.

I do think it’s kind of curious that, since one of Steve’s major characteristics is that he lost his legs in Iraq, we’ve never actually gotten a good look at his prosthetics. Not that we should let his disability and define him and I’m sure most people with artificial legs actually wear pants that cover them up, but it almost seems that the artist has gone out of his way to arrange the panel composition such that his legs are just out of view. Could this be one of the problems of a comics strip that’s a collaboration between an artist and a writer — could the artist have gotten the scripts and cried “Argh! Prosthetic limbs! My greatest weakness!”

Popeye, 1/26/08

Popeye is in the midst of some completely uninteresting plot about Sweet Pea’s allowance, but I have to pose this question to those readers who are part of the nautical division of the Jungle Patrol: What the hell does “typical fat-armed sailor” mean? I always assumed that Popeye’s bizarre physique was a result of artistic whimsy and/or steroid abuse, but are we to understand that his pencil-thin biceps and unnaturally bulging forearms are somehow representative of his profession — and are also somehow related to the cheapness endemic to seamen? I’m obviously way behind on my sailor stereotyping.

Dick Tracy, 1/26/08

In our upcoming storyline, Dick Tracy will drop any pretense about being a frank cheerleader for fascism as Dick is ordered to go break up a local showing of “degenerate art.”

Marmaduke, 1/26/08

For “lost,” read “ate,” obviously.