Post Content

Gil Thorp, 5/19/07

Everyone who’s been whining about how relentlessly depressing and maudlin Funky Winkerbean’s cancer storyline may change their tune once they get a load of Gil Thorp’s frenzied, hard-to-follow take on the same material. My guess is that Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp is not, in fact, being told that she has cancer — the “bad news” will be that her insurance co-pay has gone up from $20 to $40 or something — but her student will spread the news to her squabbling teammates that Coach is on death’s door, and hilarious lesser-Shakespeare-comedy-of-misunderstanding-style hijinks will ensue, interspersed among Clambake’s down-home, vaguely racially offensive antics. It’ll be all cleared up right around the time the Lady Mudlark softball team gets bounced in the second round of the playdowns, and we’ll all learn a valuable lesson: namely, that nobody you actually know will ever get cancer.

Meanwhile, nobody will pay attention to the emotional and physical scars left by the vicious monkey attack on Blondie McWhatshername in panel three. The sinister simian has already clawed off most of her nose, and now it’s coming back for more.

Blondie, 5/19/07

It was distressing enough to learn that the Bumsteads’ neighborhood is full of vicious feral dogs who travel under the cover of night. Now we see that even the day isn’t safe, as this middle-school mafia travels from house to house demanding cash for work they don’t perform. The suburbs are even more terrifying than I could have imagined!

Apartment 3-G, 5/19/07

Some might argue that the revelation that Lu Ann’s veins are filled not with blood but some viscous black fluid indicates that she’s a robot, which would go a long way towards explaining her limited emotional range and general dimness. I prefer to believe that she’s been possessed by the X-Files’ black oil, and that “Albert Pinkham Ryder” is an avatar of the alien invasion force that’s been forcing her to paint endless numbers of boring fern watercolors to advance their sinister and inscrutable plans. In makes as much sense as anything else, which is to say: none at all.

9 Chickweed Lane, 5/19/07

A lot of people have been kvetching about this week’s 9 Chickweed Lane, in which Edda waxes maudlin about how nobody seems to understand the difference between being a dancer and being a professional dancer. As a non-traditional-job-having type myself (though my wife informed me this weekend that I did not actually qualify as “funemployed,” as much as I might like the word), I had a bit more sympathy than most, but even I was finding it pretty wearisome by the end … until suddenly it turned into Edda wearing short shorts and encountering a centaur, or unicorn, or something in the middle of a New York City park, and BAM! HOW YA LIKE ME NOW? It’s totally insane and doesn’t make any sense, but at least it’s more fun that Lu Ann’s leaky, addled skull.

Post Content

Ack! I know, I’ve been terribly remiss on a number of metapost fronts, not least of which is the SELF-CLUBBING TYLER CONTEST! I’m gonna get all of those pics up this weekend at some point, I promise, and let you all hash out the merits of the entrants before I make my decision next week. But till then, here’s another few metaposty things.

First off! The following TDIET passed by on Saturday unremarked:

But! Did you know that “Sarah Culp” is really faithful Comics Curmudgeon reader Propaniac? It’s true! Due to scheduling mix-ups at the syndicate, she actually missed her moment of glory on the day of publishing, but thanks to the Internet, it’ll be here forever for all to enjoy. Sarah says: “I sent the idea in mid-November, when I actually was sitting around my house waiting for a desperately important call about a job interview, and the phone just wasn’t ringing at all and it was driving me insane and it struck me that there might be a little bit of irony in the situation, and a little bit of irony is what TDIET is all about, right?” (She did end up getting the phone call — and the job — eventually.)

Several commentors have noted that their TDIET submissions have been accepted; be sure to let me know when yours will run so I can feature it here!

Now, on to merch! Even since last week, I’ve had this charming bit of banter stuck in my head:

Thankfully, faithful reader extraordinaire willethompson has crafted one of inimitable merch designs out of it:

And he also took the opportunity to cook up another design he’d been contemplating, a tribute to Judge Parker’s dear Abbey:

These fine, fine garments will run you $16 plus 5.50 shipping and handling. Cups are $13 + 5.50 S&H. Shirt/cup combinations are $29 + 6.50 S&H.

Now, remember the deal with these: We need 24 orders of each shirt to do a run, and 36 orders of each mug. It’s a little more convoluted than CafePress, but the product is of higher quality. Orders close on Monday, May 28; if we don’t get enough orders, the shirts and mugs won’t be printed, though we might rework the graphic for use on CafePress. Head over to willethompson’s home page for ordering details!

Finally, speaking of merch, and CafePress, don’t forget that old classics, like the Finger Quotin’ Margo shirt, are still available. In fact, faithful reader MeganKoumori recently acquired one of her very own, and shows of her quotin’ prowess here:

More stuff still available for your purchasing pleasure!

Post Content

Gil Thorp, 5/18/07

Gil Thorp continues to be unspeakably filthy. In panel one, Brynna “mishandles” Lisa’s “sinker,” if you know what I mean (and I think you do); as a result of that “collision,” her shoulder is sore the next day. Fortunately, she still has use of her right arm.

Hi and Lois, 5/18/07

Young Chip Flagston, sittin’ in a tree
down-load-ing porn-o-graph-y.

Mary Worth, 5/18/07

Mary loves her pithy little bits of advice, but there has to be some kind of internal house rule that a pearl of wisdom, once used, can never be repeated; that explains why, after 67 years in the meddling business, her sayings have gone from the helpful to the platitudinous to something at odds with everything we know about how time and space work. I don’t care how at peace you are with the past, people: you cannot astrally project yourself back in time and change what happened. Mary Worth is right in that white doctors shouldn’t trouble themselves with charity work in filthy foreign countries, but she’s off-base here.

Slylock Fox, 5/18/07

To me, the look on the dog’s face doesn’t say “lazy” so much as “has lost the will to live.”