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Judge Parker, 2/3/05

So I’ve been following Judge Parker ever since I started reading the soap opera strips at the Houston Chronicle Web site, which has been, what, two months now? You’d think I could tell you something concrete about it by now, but it’s been grinding along even more interminably than the rest of the serials, making it difficult to follow. The plotlines seem pleasingly lurid, though: one involves a pair of college students anonymously sending half-naked toga party pictures of a bitchy acquaintance to said acquaintance’s mother, so said mother would force said bitchy acquaintance to leave the state college party school where she engaged in the aforementioned semi-nude chicanery; another involved a man who (off camera, alas) apparently was tossed from an airplane somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean. The current story revolves around a woman named Gloria, who is currently rotting in a Mexican jail, arrested by a (fat, hairy, and swarthy, of course) corrupt Mexican cop on a trumped-up gun charge; now Judge Parker has to fly down there and help her out. (We think the charges are phony, anyway. Stay tuned to find out the truth! Hopefully sometime this year!)

Anyway, I felt a need to comment on this one, because I laughed aloud at the warning that this Planet of the Apes refugee gives to the man who I’m reasonably sure is the title character. You may have a fancy law school education, Judge, but did you know that they speak Spanish in Mexico? Huh? You just thought you’d shout in English and get your way, didn’t you? That sort of thing may get you more margaritas at Chevy’s, but actual Mexico is totally different! Fortunately, he’ll have plenty of time to read the entire dictionary on the plane.

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Cathy, 2/2/05

When I heard that Cathy was going to get married on Valentine’s Day, I assumed, naturally enough, that Cathy was going to get married on Valentine’s Day. This week, however, the comics-reading public has discovered that in fact Cathy is just going to say “I do” on Valentine’s Day, so that the unspeakable horror that is the Cathy wedding will actually last two weeks. Charles and Diana’s wedding didn’t last that long. Britney Spears’ first marriage didn’t last that long.

I don’t even want to think about how long the wedding night is going to last.

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I admit to having been slack over the past few days, forcing you to hit Refresh on your browser over and over again, hoping to see a new post here and being mocked by an ad for Comics Curmudgeon tchotchkes. (An offer almost nobody has taken up, incidentally. Come on, don’t you know that everyone will worship you like a new god if you wear a “More zippers, mule!” t-shirt?) To make it up to you, I offer you not one, not two, but three fresh comics for today.

B.C., 2/1/05

I don’t think Jesus likes that punchline very much, Johnny. Also, I don’t really get the grandpa angle of the joke, nor the being-hip angle. If you’re going to set up this joke — and, I need to emphasize, I really don’t think you should — then you could probably find a better way to go about doing it.

Luann, 2/1/05

To my mind, this is the funniest Luann in weeks. It’s also evidence that a strip doesn’t need to have a punchline per se to be funny. Things I like about it: Brad casually saying “Whatev.” (complete with period) while raising one eyebrow, in panel one; T.J. solemnly offering a box of Oreos to Brad’s grave; the poem on Brad’s imaginary tombstone (you probably can’t read it in this graphic, but it reads “Brad DeGroot/ Ran out of luck/ Fell in love/ Forgot to duck); and the fact that T.J. hasn’t felt the need to dress up for his visit to the graveyard.

T.J. appears to have an earing, something I never noticed before. You’ll also notice that he’s entirely mum on the subject of dealing with sexual pressure.

Mark Trail, 2/1/05

Never mind the thrashing around, Mark; maybe you should STOP SHOUTING! I swear, if I were a shark, I’d eat him just to shut him up.