A clean, well-lit place to vent
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When I saw the Red Rascal call for his horse I burst out laughing. General Petraeus must be so proud. I am surprised we haven't seen any of Jeff's tales on The Sandbox. I think he'll do better as a writer than as a soldier.
Okay, okay, get to Jeff's New Yorker serial deal and his book contract already. The suspense is maddening!
The Red Rascal is fabulous. Roll over James Thurber, and tell Keith Waterhouse the news.
Disemboweling? Okay, I get it. This week's strip has been another of Jeff's Red Rascal fantasies. If I may throw him a lifeline, I recommend that he channel his imagination into writing thrillers. That's what Ian Fleming did, creating James Bond. And how better for Jeff to get his father's goat than by becoming a rich and famous novelist?
I don't care for these Red Rascal stories. I've got a kid who lives in a fantasy world myself. Perhaps the RR needs a dose of reality.
Wait a minute. Bad guys don't say "Hee hee." Something's not right.
Uh, oh--the dream sequence just got violent, and the ladies are not pleased. Is it time for Jeff/The Red Rascal to get some post-traumatic help?
Picking up hot chicks with a turban, a pair of baby blues hidden behind shades and three cups of tea? Taking out a bully with a casual disemboweling? Sorkh Razil is just too good to be true. Wait...That's it!
The strip about the ladies' willingness to support the mysterious force fighting for good reminded me of this: It was 1991. I was a brand new 2LT listening to two enlisted kids talking about their weekend. The Gulf War was spinning up and people were deploying on a grand scale. One kid says to the other: "Tell the girl this is your last chance to a be with a woman -- that you are going off to war and may not make it home." The other kid says: "Did it work?" "Yeah, like four times last week, twice with the same girl" I still LMAO thinking about that conversation. Point is, these two ladies are not fictitious cartoon characters, nor is the Red Rascal only fiction. They exist.
P.S. Neither of those two kids ever deployed, We were Army Reservists in NJ.
As a woman, I'm insulted by yesterday's and today's strips. And as a blonde, I appreciate that you made a brunette equally embarrasing. And I have to say that if a guy walked into most of the bars in this city dressed in a turban and sunglasses, I think he would be surrounded by loud angry men pretty quickly.
We used to have a society where people like Redfern Jr. would be called out on their self-absorbed delusional behaviors. Now, the Many applaud the twerp as somehow being clever or endearing. He isn't. He's the clerk who can't do basic math in his head, he's the guy walking down the street texting while you dive out of his path. He's the middle class version of George W. Bush. And I'm tired of all the adulation.
I would have thought that getting kidnapped overseas and having only a two-figure ransom note would have humbled Jeff a little bit. I really wish he'd suffer at least some small consequences for his big-headed actions.
Re. the MISSHAPEN PROGENCY comment: I think it is apt that Jeff Redfern is as delusional as he is. I have a lot of time for the USA and for American citizens, but you guys have been sleepwalking towards a cliff for decades. I have read Doonesbury from the beginning (retrospectively) and consider this to be one of the most insightful storylines ever.
Keep it down, ladies. You'll wake Mom and Dad.
Jeff's story gets more and more unbelievable. I'm expecting it to end like An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.
I love Jeff in his role as Red Rascal. He is lost in his own world, but aren't we all? I would love to see him start a charity (maybe a real life one were "Red Rascal" is the online face of it) and really start helping the people he cares about in Afghanistan. I know I'd donate.
"Three cups of tea." Priceless. Trifecta! GBT, my hero.
I've been a Doonesbury fan since Mike, and I, were in college, but may have to stop reading this beloved strip. I simply can't stand watching the Redferns' misshapen progeny gaining stature in the strip while stomping through the world like a kid kicking over anthills. If this kid doesn't get some kind of consequence from his actions -- even getting kicked out of his house by his silly parents -- I may have to avoid the strip for a time. I know that baby-boomers let their bairns avoid responsibility throughout their lives -- I've done a lot of that myself -- but this kid is pathologically destructive. I would have been quite happy if that copter explosion had taken him out.
Jeff Redfern is both Calvin and Hobbes, whose real and fantasy life are inextricably linked. Or maybe I'm stoned. I guess both can be true...
Wow. Jeff's egomaniacal delusions are approaching rubber-room levels if he thinks those female bar patrons can tell he's got baby blues through the sunglasses he is inexplicably wearing indoors.