CSotD: TGIFFunnies


Not only is it TGIF, but it’s also TGIR, which stands for “Thank God I’m Retired,” because this Andertoons might otherwise spark a bout of depression.

The only suspense in visits from Corporate was whether they were sending a deliberate liar or just someone who didn’t know what was going on.

We had a family member of the ownership appear for cookies and punch once who, asked when we would get cost-of-living increases, assured us we had been getting those.

Someone had to tell him we hadn’t had one in three years.

Another time they double-teamed my department with a VP and a publisher from a sister-paper. After we’d shown them around, the publisher told me they had come there planning to tell us to do ABCD, but that he was genuinely impressed with my program and wanted to institute it at his paper.

When the recommendations came back a week later, we were told to do ABCD.

The depressing part being that it didn’t surprise me in the least.


Which makes this Cornered seem like a logical next panel.

The joke here is that, while he wouldn’t have to pay it off, his heirs and assigns would. If I dropped dead today, my kids would have to handle the remaining $398 on my car loan.

If I manage to hang in until October, they’ll get everything.

Which they can then blow on a round of Grand Slam Dinners at Denny’s, as long as somebody can cover the tip.

Or they might want to invest it in paying the garbage men to haul my stuff to the landfill, though, IMO, that’s what a damage deposit is for.


Which, on a day we were doing politics instead of humor, would invoke this Willie ‘n Ethel panel.

Willie was Homer Simpson before there was a Homer Simpson, and, in this case, it’s funny because it’s true, but that’s the only reason it’s funny.


And for that matter, on a day we were doing politics, I’d feel constrained to draw some sort of parallel between this Pardon My Planet and current events.

Nonsense. If it had any political intent, the Emperor would be declaring “Many people say,” not “Some say.”

He’d be an excellent driver like you wouldn’t believe, I’m telling you.


On the other hand, grim reality can provide pure humor, and Zits has had a good story arc this week about school openings.

Zits is at its best in Jeremy’s interactions with his buddies; At home, it has begun to sink into a repetitive, depressing slough of mutual hostility.

Here, however, they’re barely off-target. Some schools, at least, are planning to deliver airline food to kids at their desks to keep them separated and miserable and brain dead. Which, BTW, dovetails with the many schools that have already outsourced their kitchens.

It also fits with the observation by exchange students that American schools are run like 19th century sweatshops, with kids running at the bell and never getting a real break between classes.

Or, as seen here, run like penitentiaries.

But funny penitentiaries. Hilarious penitentiaries.


South African schools are also reopening, and Madam & Eve got a good laugh from me with this one.

I can’t remember if there was ever an explanation for how Eve’s niece Thandi went from a frequent unwelcome visitor to a near-step-grandchild, but the pairing of her with grumpy old Mrs. Anderson is a throwback to WC Fields and his interactions with bright little kids.

The advantage of creating strong characters and relationships being that regular readers don’t need a chart to figure out the punchline. It’s easy to say “Little kids are pests,” but takes some skill to pull off a continuing gag that continues to work.


And I for one am happy to see Edith back at her regular job, because, up here in the Northern Hemisphere, we’re about to shift from lawnmower season to leaf-blowing season.

I’ve noted before that I find it grossly unfair that the only person outfitted with noise-canceling headphones is the jerk causing the noise in the first place. Edith and her katty would be welcome here any time.


And continuing the theme of life in other countries, Tom Heintjes noted the anniversary of the first pencil-pal arc in Peanuts the other day and reprinted the whole thing.

I had a pen-pal in England for several years, set up by Marcus Morris, the legendary editor of Eagle. The fellow was a good cartoonist, I was a good writer and we exchanged interesting letters.

It struck a chord for another reason: As part of downsizing my stacks of ephemera, I sent a collection of letters from a late friend, an ex-pat in Japan, to his grown daughter, whom I only met once, when she was very little.

In rereading them, I was struck by what a fine writer and good person he was, and by how much I miss him, but also by the fact that he and I went back and forth by email, once that was possible, but that all those exchanges are lost in the ether or embedded on long-ago recycled hard drives.

Paper and pens, or pencils, are not such bad things.


And speaking of clearing out things you no longer need, Watson barely exaggerates the condition of my refrigerator.

To which I would add that, while Watson often offers wry, gentle wisdom, it doesn’t often come up with a punchline like this, which made me laugh twice as hard because it was so unexpected.

And it really does evoke a more horrifying image than tentacles alone.


Finally, Johnny Hazard offers a downbeat ending to his latest adventure, having once more bested the villain, recovered the stolen jewels and, this time, lost his heart.

Back in 1957, James Bond was only in books and not particularly well-known, and a hero might be expected to stay in his own hotel room, alone.

In fact, back then, that was one of the ways you gained a reputation as a hero.




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