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Ziggy, 2/11/08

Every once in a while, something deeply strange and more than a little bit wonderful peeks out at you from the cracks in the tired old surface of a long-running comic strip. Today, Ziggy, having long failed in his quest to make human friends, and routinely mocked and derided by his own pets, is searching for companionship from a machine, which, he sadly believes, will be able to soothe his loneliness. But he’s not satisfied with the run-of-the-mill answering machines that merely record phone messages and play them back at the touch of a button; instead, he’s searching for an advanced model with basic decision-making abilities. In so doing, he touches on a philosophical dilemma that has troubled great thinkers for centuries: can truly rewarding affection come from an entity lacking free will? If Ziggy’s answering machine is forced by its programming to love him, can what it feels truly be said to be “love” at all, rather than mere slavish devotion? But, on the other hand, if the answering machine is allowed to decide on its own what to feel about Ziggy, won’t it respond with the same mixture of pity and disgust universally held by the service employees, animals, and newspaper readers who encounter him daily?

Dick Tracy, 2/11/08

I was going to laugh mightily at Dick Tracy’s decision to make up, and then explain in a footnote, a completely nonexistent slang term for being nefariously rendered unconscious by a baddie with a roofie and/or a dart gun, but then I consulted Urban Dictionary and found that “smacked” can mean getting high from smoking marijuana or taking Ecstasy. While this doesn’t necessarily conflict with the narrator-supplied definition of “foreign substance in system,” it obviously puts an entirely different spin on the scenario: the problem is not so much a stealthy, sinister baddie willing to do anything to kidnap the Chief, but rather an out-of-control drug problem that’s affected even the police force’s most elite officers. Fortunately, once Chief Liz has been recovered, Dick Tracy will deal with the hippie slacker responsible, probably with the butt of his pistol.

Gil Thorp, 2/11/08

OH SWEET SWEET SWEET lunging out of the mental hospital and into the third panel at a bizarre, inexplicable angle: it’s self-bashing Tyler! Who, uh, looks actually pretty much exactly like Andrew Gregory. Really, is there a Valley Conference rule that says that one spit-curled player must be on the court at all times?

Spider-Man, 2/11/08

Oh, man, no matter how often Spider-Man is felled by getting hit in the back of a head with a lead pipe with absolutely no warning from his spider-sense, it never gets old. Never.

Mary Worth, 2/11/08

do it Drew do it just turn the wheel a little to the left LIFE’S NOT WORTH LIVING do it do it do it

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Panels from Apartment 3-G, 2/10/08

Margo knows that a big crowd is best primed to appreciate fine art when it’s very, very drunk.

Panels from Curtis, 2/10/08

Actual conversation I had just moments ago with my wife, who went to a Quaker college:

Me: Hey, sweetie, did you know that Curtis learned about Quakers in school today?

Her: Why was Curtis in school today? It’s the weekend.

Me: [Sound of mind being completely blown]

Panel from Spider-Man, 2/10/08

THIS JUST IN: Spider-Man is not, in fact, an elephant.

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B.C., 2/9/08

HO HO YES, THE POLITICIANS, THEY ARE ANNOYING! THOSE DEMOCRATS AND REPUBLICANS, THEY MAKE ME ANGRY! That’s exactly the sort of barbed and targeted attack on people’s closely held beliefs that will get you pulled out of the paper!

Legacy artist, please. Your shit-stirring does not impress. Start writing rambling, incoherent poems about Jesus and/or explaining how Christ came to put out the menorah and then we’ll talk.

Crankshaft, 2/9/08

If there’s one saving grace in Crankshaft, it’s Crankshaft’s total and complete dedication to angry misanthropy. In another kind of strip, this lame punny punchline (I think it’s supposed to be punny, though I admit to being at a loss as to just what “doodle date” is a pun on) would have been issued by a cheery old man in an avuncular fashion; but the ’Shaft’s facial expression in the third panel makes clear his utter disgust for those ink-stained wretches who have the nerve to quit drawing and move down to some nice place in Boca. “You know, I’ve totally screwed up my retirement savings plans and will have to drive a damn bus and deal with children I hate every damn day for the rest of my bile-shortened life, so I don’t see why any of these cartooning jerkfaces should get to enjoy their old age. They can kiss my white, wrinkled, hate-clenched ass.”

Gil Thorp, 2/9/08

Jeez, Gil, you’re lucky Andrew was able to shrug, seeing as his impossibly long and thin body in panel one seems to have been completely de-boned. Honestly, this may be the worst new-head-attached-to-random-body-from-somewhere-else drawing I can remember in Gil Thorp, and it appears in the same panel as someone who’s arm looks to be on backwards.

The dude peeking over Marty Moon’s shoulder in panel three, meanwhile, seems to be on the verge of complete rapture. I know that high school sports is the primary form of entertainment in the blighted wasteland from which the Valley Conference schools draw their student body, but that guy is just too excited about the Mudlark starting lineup. My guess is that Milford’s “spirit squad” has started handing out Ecstasy to fans at the door.

Family Circus, 2/9/08

“You also may be a Neanderthal, with your protruding browridge and subhuman intellect. What I’m trying to say is, we’re selling you to a circus sideshow.”