You Gotta Love Casual Alcoholism

I thought today's Andy Capp was legitimately funny. It also made me feel better about being unemployed, and drinking in the middle of the day. Upstanding citizens, Andy and I.

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BREAKING HERB AND JAMAAL NEWS

Prepare to have your mind blown out your ass: the old lady from Herb and Jamaal has suddenly ditched her Star Trek coffee mug for a completely generic mug void of any movie licensing tie-in. If anyone has any information regarding this strange and disturbing development, PLEASE contact me immediately.

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Marmaduke Sucks at Watching TV

On the surface, today's Marmaduke is a forgettable gag about the dog occupying his owner's La-Z-Boy. But dig deeper, and you'll find something much more insane going on here. What the hell is Marmaduke watching on that fine flat screen? Is there some new modern art network I don't know about? Like, seriously, what is that? Change the channel, man! Your master is such a milquetoast he's just giving you the best seat in the house, and you're watching a bunch of incoherent lines and dots? Come on! Then again, it's possible that Marmaduke creator Brad Anderson is so talentless and lazy that he just drew a bunch of scribbles on the TV screen. But let's not even go down that road.

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Pickles Takes on Boner Meds

I'm usually checking my pulse by about the third panel of Pickles, but yesterday they threw me a sucker punch with this risque riff on natural male enhancement. Frankly, I agree with the old man. Those commercials make me feel awkward as hell. The only thing worse is when my girlfriend is watching Bravo and I catch drug ads for vaginal diseases I didn't even know existed. It's like, I'm trying to eat a sandwich, and I'm not actually gonna stop eating my sandwich altogether, but I have to put it down for a second or else the next few bites will taste really bad. And moist. Also, this seemed like a great way to get "Boner" in the headline.

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Burning Question

WHY IN GOD'S NAME IS THAT OLD LADY DRINKING OUT OF A STAR TREK MUG?

Seriously. Take a close look. Why? 'Cause I got nothin'.

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Please, Slow Down, I'm Retarded

Today's Drabble was particularly insulting, not because of the embarrassing art, or the lack of any real humor, but because Drabble author and creative mastermind Kevin Fagan spends three panels setting up a joke and then, rather than telling one... he just sort of explains what's come before.

So Ralph Drabble is chatting idly about barbecues with an employee of the awesomely named, if somewhat anonymous, "Trash Company." He then gets this sly look on his face and thinks to himself, "Guys love to talk about their barbecues." Yeah, no shit, that's what the whole strip was about.

At first I thought, goddamn, Ralph Drabble is one stupid guy. He is, after all, a mall cop. I haven't seen Paul Blart, but I'm guessing Mr. Fagan was brought on as a creative consultant. But after thinking about it some more (too much), I realized that this bit of exposition in the fourth panel was all just for us. Mr. Fagan holds his audience to be such cretinous turds that they require explication of the most facile and basic concepts.

"Hey, why is Drabble carrying on about his barbecue? I thought he just needed the damn thing picked up! And now the other guy is talking about his barbecue?! What does his barbecue have to--OH! Ohhhh..."

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God Bless Herb and Jamaal

This was today's Herb and Jamaal. You don't know Herb and Jamaal? Oh, it's awesome! It's about these two black guys named Herb and Jamaal. One of 'em has a crazy-shaped head (that's Jamaal). Unlike Watch Your Head or The Boondocks, Herb and Jamaal doesn't need contemporary black slang, or jokes. Herb and Jamaal is old school. "Cleanliness is next to godliness." The laundromat next to the church. See? That shit is cool. Herb and Jamaal. Kill me.

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Blondie & Dagwood: A Breed Apart

On the surface, the Bumsteads appear to have it made. Their problems are typical, even mundane. Dagwood naps too much. His boss is a dick. His daughter's boobs are conspicuously large. His wife... well, Blondie is pretty much perfect. It's like the plot of (insert your favorite fat guy/hot wife sitcom). Except the guy isn't fat. Whatever.

Upon closer inspection, however, it becomes clear that there's something completely f'd up about this family: the men and women come from different species. The ladies have this weird hyper-realistic thing going on (their impressive proportions notwithstanding). They have real-lookin' mouths and eyes, for example. Then the guys have this weird hyper-retarted thing going on. The vertical, oval eyes with no whites. And the mouths? Simple black lines. Then there are those terrifying tufts of hair they have jutting out like alien antennae. Shit's weird.

So... what the hell is going on here? Are the Bumstead men aliens? Is Blondie aware she's been shagging a martian all these years? Is Julius C. Dithers wrapped up in all this?!??! Hell if I know. I just complain about the stuff.

Ziggy, Enemy of Pants

Ziggy. I don't know what it says about our society that we've spent 40 years following a guy whose sole purpose in life is to get shit on and be sad. Something bad. But something was recently brought to my attention that made me understand Ziggy in a whole new way. No, not the fact that he has cankles, or that he only smiles on T-shirts, or that he has the physical proportions of a chode. But the fact that the guy NEVER WEARS ANY GODDAMN PANTS. I'd be depressed too if I spent every day doddling about in a muumuu. It's like, come on, guy, at least get yourself a nice pair of sweatpants. I think sweats would suit Ziggy quite well. God, I love sweatpants. If I had a job, I'd put them on every day as soon as I got home from work.

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Farley>Blondie

Not funny:

Super funny: