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Herb and Jamaal, 2/12/05

Ever since last year’s terrible comics cull, I’ve found my job (and I’m using the word “job” loosely here) of reading the comics so you don’t have to a little tougher. I’ve finally come to the conclusion that, though the best of the serials went into my Houston Chronicle custom comics page right away, my art (and I’m using the word “art” loosely here) suffers from the absence of even those crappy comics that I didn’t think I’d miss. So now they’re all back in the rotation, including such longtime non-faves as Dennis the Menace, Marmaduke, Ziggy, and, of course Herb and Jamaal.

So here it is: did ya miss it? Maybe it’s just because I saw Bad Education last night, but all I have to say about this comic is that you’d think we’d be a little less cavalier these days about depicting priests praying to be “filled with … worthwhile stuff.” Aaaah, hatin’ on poor old Herb and Jamaal: it’s good to be back.

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Mark Trail, 2/11/05

Is anyone else painfully disappointed that this Mark Trail adventure is about to abruptly end thanks to an oh-so-convenient passing helicopter, and will apparently not feature Mark fighting off vicious sharks armed only with his encyclopedic understanding of sea life and his bare fists? Instead, it looks like we’ll get a quick flight back to shore, followed by the arrests of some coke-smugglin’ no-goodniks. B-o-o-ring!

On the other hand, our incredulous (or perhaps all-too-credulous) helicopter pilot seems to think Mark is being held close to the surface of the sea by some supernatural force; perhaps he’ll mistake the outdoorsman for Christ Himself. If word gets out, there’s no telling how Mark, drunk with power, will exploit his legions of followers. Perhaps there’s hope for my harem-of-polo-shirted-women idea yet.

Speaking of polo shirts, this strip also features sign #293 that Mark Trail is not drawn by a gay man (or, if it is, then by a gay man with a good deal of restraint): despite the fact that he’s soaking wet, Mark’s shirt is singularly failing to cling to his rugged, manly physique in a provocative manner.

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Get Fuzzy, 2/10/05

Not to horn in on the territory of the excellent Comics I Don’t Understand, but, well, I don’t understand Rob’s statement in panel one. “Go down as easy as a Parisian in a penalty box?” The beautiful, currently-on-strike sport of ice hockey is played by many nationalities, but the French are not known for the prowess in the game, since the smoking generally leaves them short of breath. (French Canadians are another story, of course, but they might as well be from Indiana as far as most Parisians are concerned.) Is it supposed to be double entendre, and I just don’t get it? Or is it a double entendre that sounds dirty but doesn’t really mean anything, like “the dreaded rear admiral”? Any help would be much appreciated.

Anyway, despite my bafflement and the strip’s somewhat juvenile subject matter, it still made me laugh, mostly at the phrase “Prepare to lose that particular 25 cents, my friend.” Ah, when home brewers boast, only to be felled by their own hubris.