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Apartment 3-G, 4/11/07

Panel one: The touch on the shoulder, plus the nature of the conversation, establishes that these two gentlemen are well acquainted with each other, and, despite minor conflicts, keep each other’s best interests at heart.

Panel two: An exaggerated look at the watch, plus a call to make plans later, indicates that one of the two characters needs to run.

Panel three: Oh no! Readers might not realize that these two are old friends, and about to part! We need a narration box, stat! As a bonus, it will screw up the rhythm of the strip, implying that there’s been some kind of gap in time between panels two and three!

Spider-Man, 4/11/07

I’m uninterested in the latest example of J. Jonah Creep’s epic self-absorption, and my curiosity is only vaguely piqued by the flight of that … brick? videotape? bundle of hundred-dollar bills? Whatever. I am, however, intrigued by the concept of a thought balloon coming from off-panel. A similarly positioned word balloon offers a comics-panel approximation of a situation in which you can hear someone but not see them; this seems to show that SOMEWHERE nearby, SOMEONE is thinking … but WHO?

Gil Thorp, 4/11/07

When I read today’s Gil Thorp, my eyes slid right over the bizarre wildlife analogies and traumatizing Paris Hilton joke to settle on that … thing … that the first basewoman is holding in the third panel. Is it a trash can lid? An enormous pair of black panties with a frilly trim? A rip in the fabric of space and time, revealing the soul-destroying black abyss that lies beyond our universe? After about a minute, I realized that we’re just supposed to be looking directly into the maw of a fielder’s mitt. That’s a minute I’ll never have back, and I resent it.

By the way, it appears that Hadley Baxendale and Steve Luhm fought for equal rights in vain: While I’m sure the baseball diamond has been mowed with laser-beam precision, the softball field appears to be covered in ankle-deep grass. The right fielder is standing in a particularly wooly patch, though, if we continue with the African herbivore metaphors, she may believe that it provides camouflage from predators.

Dick Tracy, 4/11/07

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve managed to avoid commenting on Dick Tracy ever since we met the completely demented Queen of Diamonds character. Today, things just get weirder as she discards her costume for reasons that are no more obvious than those that drove her to wear in the first place. It’s not like a lumpy person in a skin-tight black bodysuit with a face like a playing card is exactly inconspicuous, even if she isn’t carrying a supernaturally glowing gem.

Judge Parker, 4/11/07

For those of you not following along at home, Neddy and Abbey, fleeing from their ‘80s punker attackers, have ducked through a door off of an alley and into some mysterious workshop full of industrial supplies that they can turn into weapons. Presumably they will blow-torch their nemeses into submission, then dump their charred figures onto the steps of L’Académie française, where they will be dealt with for their crimes against French grammar. It looks like somebody’s gunning to have their strip turned into the next ultraviolent Robert Rodriguez-directed big screen comics adaptation.

Mark Trail, 4/11/07

Many of you have already noted that Mark is flying to confront Dan’s grieving widow on the back of a majestic goose, and driving from the gooseport in some kind of vehicle that lacks seats. I’m more disturbed by how excited Cherry is about the whole thing. “Oh, Mark, I’m so glad you didn’t call the police with your suspicions. I love it when you go off half-cocked on impromptu voyages of vengeance! Go get ’em, tiger! Don’t beat anyone to death unless you feel like it!”

Family Circus, 4/11/07

This, combined with this, leads me to believe that the Family Circus has a bee up its butt over recent findings that most Americans, including most of those who consider themselves Christians, are completely ignorant of the basics of the Bible and Christian theology. Obviously it will climax with an angry, melon-headed mob demanding that public schools bring back religious instructions for their poor, hell-bound students. Obviously their parents can’t be trusted to do it! They’re just as dumb!

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Spider-Man, 4/10/07

It’s official: Everyone in this strip is a screw-up. “When Kordak hits ’em, they’re done for”? Tell that to not-dead hideously ugly redheaded flattop dude! Even the corpse-dumping was marked by failure. Presumably now N-DHURFD will seek to help Spidey in order to have revenge upon his former criminal compatriots. Inevitably, he’ll botch it somehow.

Pluggers, 4/10/07

So … you’re a plugger if you’re fat? This not only represents some kind of creative nadir for the Pluggers franchise, but it insults millions of fat people everywhere. Maybe the fatness/drawstring shorts combination is the key here.

Mark Trail, 4/10/07

Wow, that angry, angry fish in panel two is the scariest thing I’ve seen in the comics — or, well, anywhere, really — in a long time. Maybe it represents Mark himself, infuriated at being used and determined to settle the score with his gaping, lipless mouth. “You want to pretend to be dead to make money, Dan? Oh, I’ll pretend for you to be dead, all right — ONLY IT WON’T BE PRETEND!”

UPDATE: Anyone who thinks panel two is mere fantastical whimsy needs to read this.

Ziggy, 4/10/07

I have to say that I find the fact that this vending machine/enigmatic monolith has a coin slot but no way to spit out whatever it is you don’t know what you’re missing profoundly unsettling. I know that the “cryptically labeled vending machine that Ziggy regards dubiously” is a common trope in Ziggy, and for obvious reasons I’m not going to subject myself to a hunt through the Ziggy archives to find out if they’re all like that, but the sight of that smooth, unbroken expanse of white whatever, unbroken by any dispensing door or slot of any kind, chills me to the bone.

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Mary Worth, 4/9/07

Grandstanding oddballs? Grandstanding oddballs? OK, this … this … the people behind Mary Worth have to be in on the joke. They have to be. This is the grand calling the kettle stand. The odd calling the kettle ball. Professor Ian Cameron is without a doubt the grandstandingest oddball who ever grandstanded. I mean, come on.

Also, check out that faraway look in his eyes as he waves his hand around at nobody in particular in panel two. I know we think of him as being uptight, but he is a liberal arts professor at a groovy California state university who wears “nonconformist” facial hair and likes to bust out the burnt sienna leisure suit and get down on occasion. He’s almost certainly chemically altered right now. They can’t show it in the comics, but I’m pretty sure that throughout this whole pool party sequence, the Charterstone communal bong has been just off-camera as it gets passed around. Maybe that’s why Vera took off so quickly: over in Pacific Cliffs, that millionaire’s stomping ground where she grew up, the mind-altering substances came in little bottles and were prescribed by your private physician, and she looks down on this bourgeois tokery.

Slylock Fox, 4/9/07

I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am that Cassandra Cat seems to now be a recurring character in Slylock Fox’s rogue gallery. You’ll note that she’s dyed her hair blonde since her last appearance in the strip, all the better to use her feminine wiles to slink out of a shoplifting conviction. Max Mouse is clearly besotted with a representative of the species that should by Cartoon Law be his greatest nemesis, which confirms once and for all that he’s an S&M submissive.

By the way, we also would have accepted “Because polygraphy is pseudoscience perpetrated by quacks, and Slylock’s half-assed guesses, based on equal parts induction and species prejudice, are just as likely to be accurate” as a correct solution to the puzzle.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 4/9/07

Careful TDIET readers (which category I trust includes ALL OF YOU) know that each daily panel, while a unique and brilliant masterpiece in and of itself, is often built out of a number of recurring elements and formulae, just like the epithets and set phrases that the ancient bards used to create the Homeric poems. I first encountered “the urge” in one of the very first TDIETs I commented on. Generally, the urge impels the urged to visit some horrible act of violence — usually something along the lines of skinning alive or burning to death — upon the perpetrator of whatever minor transgression is the subject of that day’s installment. Today, the urge is left unspecified: Alf is merely subject to it, and we are left to wonder just what variation upon it is rolling around his be-Kangoled head. It’s all no doubt baffling to the casual reader, but a nice treat for the true TDIET fan.

Dennis the Menace, 4/9/07

You know, as a comics reader, you sort of accept that your iconic characters are going to sport the same outfit day after day: Charlie Brown will always wear that yellow t-shirt with the raggedy black stripe, Dagwood Bumstead will always wear a tuxedo with a single dinner-plate-sized button in the middle of his chest, and Donald Duck will always wear the top half of a sailor suit, but, disturbingly, no pants or underwear. But scenes like this — where Dennis is wearing his typical red overalls and blue-and-black-striped shirt, and his mom is putting another instance of the same outfit, neatly folded, into a drawer that’s presumably full of them — make it harder to suspend your disbelief. Either Dennis has a serious undiagnosed case of OCD, or the Mitchells are very, very cheap and managed to get a deal in some kind of bulk sale on factory seconds.

Pluggers, 4/9/07

Once they quit the menial jobs that they hate, pluggers have very little reason to go anywhere or see anyone. Sometimes they just stay in bed for days.

Actually, sleeping in until noon is one of my very favorite things in the world, so, as a non-plugger, it’s disheartening to learn that I’ll be continuing to set an alarm even after I retire. I wonder what it is I’ll be doing so early in the morning? Having brunch with homosexuals where we drink mimosas and plot to undermine our commander-in-chief, no doubt.

By the way, apropos of nothing, I was checking out the Google search terms that brought people to my site today and discovered “make your boyfriend feel better when his dog dies” among them, and it really touched me. Nice lady (or perhaps fellow): just the fact that you’re trying will go a long way, honest.