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Gil Thorp, 1/7/08

One of my favorite terrible things about Gil Thorp is the way its narration boxes and exposition characters just hurl the full (and almost invariably WASPy) names of characters at you willy-nilly. I guess it’s supposed to keep you up on who’s doing what, but for me it has the opposite effect, as anyone who isn’t the main thrust of the storyline invariably gets lost in a sea of badly drawn faces. Was Grant Sanders an important player in the recently concluded football storyline? Has Bill Hawkins ever appeared in the strip before? Who the hell knows? I’m not very good with names in real life, and generally the people I encounter there don’t have facial features that move around and change shape from moment to moment. The only thing I’m sure of is that the dude at left in panel three was a prominent member of the Lollypop Guild.

Five bucks says that “Let’s get the A-Train involved here” also features prominently in Andrew Gregory’s foreplay banter.

Hi and Lois, 1/7/08

Hi is regarding his son with goggle-eyed horror not because they actually had some kind of upcoming vacation to St. Moritz — after all, this is the family whose idea of a dream trip was a week in cheesy faux Old West mining town, and even that apparently drove them to the verge of bankruptcy. No, the Flagston patriarch is stunned that Chip can actually summon up a phrase in a foreign language. For obvious reasons, they had always pegged him as the dumb one, and long ago spent his college fund on trips to cheesy faux tourist attractions.

Slylock Fox, 1/7/08

I hate to sound like I’m kissing up, but today’s Slylock is really a perfect little noir vignette — and while Reynard Noir is on vacation, too! I love the look into the Rats’ depressing home, with crumbling plaster covered over with Reeky’s wanted posters. The neat stack of photocopied bill sheets on the stool and the paper cutter in the foreground remind us that counterfeiting is exactly the sort of crime that fits the manic, obsessive energy of a meth fiend like Reeky. And I love the way Mrs. Rat is sitting at her vanity in a sexy slip (no doubt it’s 95 degrees and they don’t have AC), while her loutish hubby bellows commands from the other room. If only it ran in my newspaper, I could see it in black and white as it was clearly intended to be.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/7/08

Ha! It’s Funky Winkerbean! Even the exposition is cruel!

Judge Parker, 1/8/07

“So, I masturbated into your underwear drawer. Hope you don’t mind!”

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Slylock Fox, 1/6/08

OH, COME ON, SLYLOCK! I can’t make out the solution to this mystery in its small typeface, but I especially can’t make out why the two of you aren’t making out right now. “Prank calls,” indeed. I’m assuming that the only way the usual slack-jawed bunny and bird townsfolk were able to figure out that these sexy, sexy phone calls were coming from Cassandra was through top-secret technology called “caller ID.” Therefore, by my powers of deduction, I come to the conclusion that she wanted to be caught — caught with a full bubble bath and a bunch of scented candles. And who do you bring over? Max. Frickin’ Max. Unbelievable. That’s it, I’m on Team Cassandra! Who’s with me? (Buy the shirt if so, obviously.)

Zits, 1/6/07

I’m not sure if I mentioned it in a blog post, but a few weeks back there was some mild degree of controversy because Zits delved into the darkest, most offensive world of sexually charged street lingo. Specifically, there was a strip that featured Jeremy uttering in the word “sucks” — not in the sense of anybody specifically sucking on anything in particular, but in the general sense of the situation he was in being suboptimal, in the way that teenagers have been doing since at least five years before I was born. Several newspapers actually pulled the strip. Anyway, it baffles me that said word caused a kerfuffle and yet Scott and Borgman walk the streets as free men after foisting this image onto our brains, is what I’m saying.

Apartment 3-G, 1/6/08

“…a little sad and a lot drunk. And a lot asshole, too.”

(P.S. Don’t forget that Comments of the Week now appear on Mondays! So you can go to bed now, is what I’m trying to say.)

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Judge Parker, 1/5/08

And so the Tale of How Sam Came This Close To Having Sex With His Wife ends in unconsciousness. It’s likely that Abbey’s narcotic-fueled mania has finally and abruptly dissipated, though we can’t rule out the possibility that the mere thought of carnal relations with her husband simply bored her so much that she passed out. This strip is notable for its Extra Gratuitousness Action: Not only is Abbey sporting what may be the most form-fitting robe ever worn by someone who hasn’t been hosed down in preparation for a Maxim photo shoot, but Sam Driver is is also showing off the sort of ripped bod that only a grueling, desk-bound legal career with occasional travel for business purposes can produce. You know, I used to take my shirt off pretty much like that because I liked to pretend that I was a superhero changing into my costume. I was eight at the time. I’m not sure what Sam’s excuse is.

I’m going to continue with my tradition of questioning how sincere Sam and Abbey’s desire to screw is by pointing out that they own a compound so extensive that it requires a team of servants to manage properly; thus, I don’t buy the whole “we never get a chance to have sex because we never have the place to ourselves” excuse. The wing where the kids live is probably further away from their bedroom than my local grocery store is from mine.

I feel compelled to point out Abbey’s blacked-out face in panel one. I’m sure it’s a product of the infelicitous meeting of color and black-and-white that afflict all the online King Features strips, but it honestly gives me the creeps.

Dennis the Menace, 1/5/08

How to be menacing: Another installment in an occasional series

• Not menacing: “The best thing about snowballs is that they’re free!”
• Menacing: “The best thing about snowballs is that, if you pack enough ice into them and throw them at somebody’s face, you can permanent scar them or even put out an eye! For free!”

Ziggy, 1/5/08

Sometimes a strip as been around for years and years and you think you’ve got a handle on it, but suddenly it manages to surprise you — or, in this case, surprise and horrify. Why has Ziggy abandoned its usual aesthetic of outline drawings and tons of white space and decided to confront us with every greasy, curly hair on the forearms and neck of this belligerent restaurateur? To say nothing of the blemishes on his nose that could be either pimples (the result of 12-hour days spent being splattered with hot grease from his filthy grill) or burst blood vessels (the product of a combination of alcoholism and constant rage)? This must remain forever a creative mystery from the whimsical world of the funny pages.

Pluggers, 1/5/08

Pluggers are unable to save adequately for retirement, and will thus spend most of their waking hours engaged in soul-crushing menial work until the day they drop dead.