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Herb and Jamaal, 5/8/08

Thank goodness Herb and Jamaal is at last casting its penetrating eye on our political process, using its typical rhetorical strategy of making sure that nobody and nothing is mentioned by name, or with any identifying features of any kind. “CANDIDATES MAKE NEW PROMISES!” Heavens to murgatroid! What won’t these slimy politicians do to achieve elected office of some sort? They probably also “EXPLAIN POLICIES” and “ATTACK OPPONENTS!” They’d better watch out, though, because they might get “EMBROILED IN SCANDAL” or “QUESTIONED ON CONTROVERSY!”

Actually, you know what? That’s pretty much how most of political coverage in the newspaper really goes. Now I’m depressed.

Dennis the Menace, 5/8/08

So, will Dennis “disappear” in the sense of “sold to some shady Albanian businessmen and end up cleaning toilets in a mansion in Dubai?” Or in the sense of “entombed in concrete and dumped into the resevoir?” Alice’s face seems to indicate a certain detached curiosity, but little else.

Momma, 5/8/08

I’m not sure what the little dots in front of Francis’s half-crossed eyes in panel two are supposed to represent, but I think Momma may have just punched him in the face.

Pluggers, 5/8/08

Some kind of meat … little salty … tastes a little like chick–OH MY GOD HAROLD OH MY GOD

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Judge Parker, 5/7/08

Hey, kids, welcome to Judge Parker, where nothing ever happens for months and months and months, but when it happens, it really happens! A sexy (admittedly, we can’t see her face, but this being Judge Parker, “sexy” is a good bet) lady terrorist hell-bent on revenge! A cancer-ridden old lady in a wheelchair transformed into an unwilling human bomb! A battle royal between an enraged woman and an ex-Navy SEAL with no legs! Enjoy your next several days of thrilling action before we get back to the boring. In panel two, Momma Steve’s creepy, flesh-colored gag makes her look like some kind of mouthless horror, which hopefully indicates that the denouement of this story will be as deviant as the one in this strip’s pervy trip to France.

Crock, 5/7/08

I’m sort of charmed by the phrase “marked-down polyester from Wal-Mart,” which implies that you can go into the world’s largest retailer and buy great bolts of cloth to take home to your wife, who will sew them into the clothes for you and your children. It reads like it’s been written by someone who’s heard second-hand about developments in retail since the 19th century, but has never actually been in a store per se.

Update: Uh, apparently you can buy fabric at Wal-Mart with which to make your own clothes, like they did in olden days. Ha ha! Josh is a moron!

Ziggy, 5/7/08

Ziggy is so sad and lonely that he’s turned to the bottle; but, far from forgetting his problems, in his drunken state he’s become even more maudlin, and is now just sitting at the table by himself weeping openly. The waiter, profoundly unsettled by the raw emotional pain on display, covers up his discomfort by cracking wise.

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Mark Trail, 5/6/08

Ah, Andy! The best friend a guy like Mark Trail could have! And how are you repaid for your years of faithful service in note-carrying and sex prevention and the like? By being used as bait to lure cynical dognappers into range of Mark’s Fist o’ Justice. The poor dog’s even been kidnapped before, but that doesn’t stop his callous owner from subjecting him to further trauma. Sure, Mark’s “newspaper friends” have been talked into throwing aside their journalistic principles and writing a fake story to perpetrate this sting, but they’re not being asked to put their life on the line. I love that Mark is carefully explaining everything to Andy, as if the dog speaks English and this somehow counts as getting his informed consent for the operation. He might as well just be saying what he’s really thinking, which is “HA HA, THERE ARE MORE ST. BERNARDS AT THE SHELTER WHERE YOU CAME FROM, ANDY!”

Gil Thorp, 5/6/08

That’s right, Andrew, it’s time to “unleash that slider”, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. But just in case you don’t, what I mean is that you should drop your pants and expose your genitals to the batter. Here, I’m using “slider” as a double-entendre: though it’s the legitimate name of a style of pitch, it could also, with some imagination, be thought of as a nickname for a penis. Which I think you should show to the opposite team, which would be shocking and amusing. I hope we’re clear on this.