Post Content

Beetle Bailey, 1/10/07

I’m sorry, Beetle Bailey, I think you misunderstood me. I said your lame jokes make me want to vomit, not that I’d like to hear some lame jokes about vomit.

This may be the most disgusting Beetle Bailey ever, which is saying a lot in a strip that focuses so heavily on the Halftracks’ sex life. Still, I have an unaccountable urge to try to make some sort of sense of it. Are we meant to understand that:

• Gen. Halftrack was so literally sickened by Lt. Fuzz’s by-the-book, all-school-smarts-no-street-smarts, over-footnoted, armchair-general report that he registered disgust the way a real man’s man would: by emptying the contents of his stomach onto it?
• Gen. Halftrack read the report and was so shocked by how out-of-touch he (the General) was from the realities on the ground, both in Camp Swampy and in the unravelling military situation overseas, that he vomited on the report in terror?
• Gen. Halftrack was very, very drunk?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/10/07

I can’t even begin to tell you how disturbing I find the third panel of Rex Morgan, M.D., here. I know intellectually that Elvis is supposed to be in a shadow … a shadow that denotes his own sinister nature. But he sure looks like he’s wearing a ski mask — or, God help me, a leather gimp mask. Since Gruff But Kindly Landlady Lady knows exactly who this chump is, the only possible reason Elvis would have for putting such a thing on would be to up the squick factor. (Actually, Mrs. C. just offered another possibility: “‘Scuse me if I wear my ski mask while you get that … it’s cold out here in the hallway.”)

You’ll notice that I have not been following the antics of these meth-addled losers very closely of late. There comes a time in every RMMD plotline when my interest peaks, and it’s all downhill after that, no matter how many car chases and SWAT team shootouts ensue. In the Troy storyline, that point came during Rex and Troy’s Big Gay Golf game. In the the current plot, it came during June’s Mrs. Robinson/Mrs. Letourneau sequence with Niki. I realize that the last two sentences have really made me sound like a pervert, but I’m going to post them anyway.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/10/07

Yes, because if your mother works outside the home, you’ll turn out to be an emotionally crippled terrorist. Just like all the 9/11 terrorists, who came from countries with strong feminist movements and equal participation of women in the workforce. Welcome to 2007, everybody!

Post Content

Due to stupid real-world time pressures, I probably won’t be able to post today’s comics until late tonight or maybe even tomorrow, but I felt that this article in the Toronto Star needed to be brought to the attention of those who don’t read the comments post haste. (Thanks to faithful reader Big Stu for the link!) Long story short, it’s yet another feature about the future of FBOFW, with yet another version of what’s going to happen to the strip after this fall. That keeps changing because, as Johnston says in the story, she hasn’t really figured out exactly what she’s going to do yet.

But! The important thing is that the article contains a poll asking readers to which of Lizardbreath’s suitors she should pledge her troth. It’s on the right-hand side of the page, about halfway down the story. Against all logic and decency, The Mustache is currently in the lead with 40 percent; Paul has 33 percent and Warren 25 percent. Clearly the addition of Warren was an attempt to dilute the anti-Anthony hate, but I think all of you know what needs to be done about this poll. Go forth and cast your votes!

Apropos of nothing, but since I’ve got your attention, Gil Thorp fans and haters alike owe it to themselves to check out This Week In Milford. There’s a dramatic movie trailer built completely out of GT panels that is particularly amusing.

Post Content

Apartment 3-G, 1/9/07

Apartment 3-G ought by right to serve at least a little bit as an anthropological survey of life and mores of various types in New York City. 99 percent of the time it’s laughably off-target, but every once in a while it hits the mark. Margo is exactly the sort of yuppie wannabe who would make this sort of snarky, dismissive comment about New York’s superabundance of artist wannabes, and has exactly the sort of defective empathy gene to make it in front of her roommate and supposed friend, an aspiring artist.

Lu Ann, meanwhile, has one of the thinnest books of art history I’ve ever seen. Presumably that’s all the information her little brain can hold. I guess that helpful, horny librarian ended up taking her to the children’s section, which may explain why that relationship went nowhere.

Gil Thorp, 1/9/07

Note to Gil Thorp and Comics Curmudgeon readers: Please, please stop making fun of the art in this strip, because you’ll only goad the artists into perpetrating more unsettling attempts at photorealism like panel three here. I guess the point is supposed to be that Helen is making this daring investigative phone call in the dark because that’s, you know, more dramatic.

Rick Bozich is right, by the way: nobody cares about no-bid contracts, especially when the contracts involved are for IT services to a no-account exurban school district, as they are here. Presumably the Man and/or lack of public interest will force the Star to kill Helen’s exposé, and she’ll have to resort to the ultimate indignity: turning to the world of blogs. Her spiritual brother, that crusading journalist known only as HALIBURTON $UCKS, was forced down the same path.

Dennis the Menace, 1/8/09

I think that about fifteen years from now, we’ll find out [INNUENDO-LADEN JOKE ABOUT A “MARGARET SANDWICH” REDACTED DUE TO EXTREMELY POOR TASTE] hey, is Dennis drinking Metamucil?