Apartment 3-G, 11/4/13
Oddball misfit Marty sure is learning some stuff about how to be a bad girl from her bad girl friend Tori! For instance, she’s learning how to make the jerk-off gesture when talking (or, in this case, thinking) about jerk-offs like her dad. She hasn’t quite gotten all the nuances down yet — for instance, you should do it sort off to the side while sneering, rather than right in front of your face while you look like you’re about to cry — but it’s nice to see her trying new things!
Slylock Fox, 11/4/13
I originally thought the solution to this puzzle was going to involve the boxer shorts that Count Weirdly hadn’t taken off yet, thanks to his last shred of human decency. But no, it’s based on the fact that your hair and nails are already dead! I’m not sure what’s more unsettling, the image of a man invisible except for his hair and nails, or the thought that we’re all covered with corpse-bits that spout out of our very flesh.
You’d think that Peter Parker’s own extremely non-lucrative journalism career would give him a little more sympathy for the sad souls who pissed their editors off enough to be exiled to the Spider-Man beat for their various publications. But nope, being Spider-Man means you can just be a stone-cold dick to whoever you want!
I love how unimpressed and aggravated Heathcliff’s owner is here. What good is it even to have a cat that uses his terrifying control over the forces of darkness to manipulate matter and cancel out gravity if you still have mice?
None of us ever asked for any kind of psychological depth to the awful title character of this terrible strip, but here we have it anyway: Marvin compulsively poops constantly because he’s a desperate baby wipe huffer and is too dumb to realize he can just pull the wipes out and breathe in their sweet, addictive fumes directly. Look at how smug he is announcing his chemical dependency and its effect on his gastrointestinal life! The first step is admitting you have a problem, Marvin.
Considering that Momma is sitting less than three feet away from MaryLou, I think we have to assume that she’s so angry and agitated all the time because she’s can’t hear anything but is too proud to admit she needs hearing aids. Just imagine that everything she ever says isn’t in response to what people are saying to her (which she can’t hear) but what she imagines they’re saying to her, which is of course something terribly negative. It explains a lot!
I originally read that sign as “Beware of Dying,” and I think we can all agree that this would be a lot funnier if that was what it actually said.
Judge Parker, 10/27/13
Look at April’s cool, carefully controlled expression in panel two. That’s the look of a woman used to the shadowy world of international espionage, where wheels spin within wheels and suspicion is a must. Unbelievable coincidence? You’d better believe April finds it unbelievable, because April doesn’t believe in coincidences. She’s not exactly sure what’s going on here yet, but rest assured that it will end with someone quietly and efficiently killed and their body thrown off the boat. Will it be Audrey? Her seasick husband? Judge Parker Senior himself? Why choose! Can’t be too careful!
The paw-on-wing high-fiving going on in the background of the final panel ought to chill you to your very core. We can’t assume that this bird-mouse cabal will dissolve now that the allies have overcome their common feline enemy. With a mastery of disguise and control of both land and air, they are capable of anything.
It’s pizza night, everyone! And that’s why Heathcliff is on the roof playing the bagpipes. Sure, there’s literally no correlation between bagpiping and pizza, but Heathcliff doesn’t care about your square cultural consensus about the correspondence between the signifier and the signified any more than he cares about local noise ordinances. Heathcliff’s going to stand on top of your God-damned roof playing the God-damned bagpipes and then eat some God-damned pizza, because he’s God-damned Heathcliff. It doesn’t have to make sense. You know it, he knows it, so why you don’t you just stand there and listen to “Amazing Grace” or “Scotland the Brave” or whatever until he decides he’s done, hmm?
(By the way, this is another Heathcliff that works very well with the caption replaced by “I’m thinking of unfriending him on Facebook.”)
After going to great lengths to try to convince us that pluggers are wholly incapable of sexual arousal, the strip has finally admitted that, yes, pluggers can experience faint stirrings of lust, but only if they work so hard at it that they actually experience physical pain.
LOOK A CONTEMPORARY CULTURAL REFERENCE THE LOCKHORNS IS DEFINITELY NOT A COLLECTION OF THOUSANDS OF CARTOONS ALL DRAWN IN A SWEATSHOP IN 1965 AND DOLED OUT TO NEWSPAPERS ONE AT A TIME OVER THE DECADES PLEASE CONTINUE READING THANK YOU
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Heathcliff, 10/14/13, 10/15/13
What goes on by night in Heathcliff’s neighborhood just got a lot more disturbing. Heathcliff has quintupled his garbage consumption in just a few short months, and now requires armored strikes by Garbage Ape just to keep him in slop. I fear he is building his strength for an apocalyptic conflict with Marmaduke for absolute domination of the comics page, and I’m not sure which one to back. In this business, you don’t want to be wrong about something like that.
One Big Happy, 10/14/13, 10/15/13
Meanwhile, Ruthie’s got a raven to sleep in her princess doll bed, hide in her closet, and share her breakfast. The raven tells her secrets. Terrible, terrible secrets that all ravens know but little girls must not.
Stupid raven, leave her alone — she’s just a little girl! I don’t care how much you like Trix!
Gil Thorp, 10/14/13
First I wrote, “Gil Thorp is getting a little annoying”, but the sentence just laughed at me so I put these other words around it. John Pascoe is a skilled football player who can talk but doesn’t. Nobody else can seem to shut up about this. Including, now, me. Crap.
– Uncle Lumpy
Slylock Fox, 10/7/13
Oh, man, this is just another example of the shameful criminality within the Rat family, in which even their charming mating rituals are indelibly tied up with theft. It’s too depressing to think about, so let’s all just enjoy Max Mouse on his skateboard, shall we? Wheee! That sure is a radical and extreme way to get to a crime scene, Max!
Apartment 3-G, 10/7/13
This strip made me laugh longer and harder than anything that appeared in the comics all last week. Tommie, one of the ostensible main characters in this strip, hasn’t appeared since May, but don’t worry, she called in a couple weeks ago to let us know that she’s OK, it’s just that nobody told us because Tommie is mind-numbingly dull. Also, don’t forget that Tommie is taking her exotic, exciting, and now-extended Italian vacation with her mom, which, much love to my mom and all other moms out there, but it’s kind of par for the Tommie course, you know? Or maybe I’m being too judgmental. Maybe Tommie and her mom have found hot matching age-appropriate (or even age-inappropriate) Italian men to seduce and have extended their stay so that they can better enjoy their cross-generational Italian sex idyll. (Just kidding, that would never happen, because Tommie is the boringest person alive.)
“He also refuses to use the flush toilet, despite the fact that he’s obviously fully capable of doing so. I guess he really wants us to keep having to deal with disposing of his poop, because, as noted, Heathcliff is kind of an asshole.”