Main content:

Comics archive! Sally Forth

Nature is also red in tooth and claw, so that’s two strikes right there

Six Chix, 8/24/14

Pluggers II — Ascension

The Change came faster than anyone could have imagined. Proto-pluggers, still in animal form, quickly learned to operate the machines left for them as the humans devolved. Seduced by simple sense-pleasures, their former masters abandoned the responsibilities of economic life, cleaning up after themselves, and caring for their — what did they call them in the Before Times? Oh, yes — pets.

Mark Trail, 8/24/14

It’s good to see that despite the change at the helm, Sunday Mark Trail is sticking to its time-honored themes. Take it from NOAA: whether by tidal wave, lightning, flash flood, or this tornado here, Nature is an implacable monster and will stone cold kill you — probably by blowing up your barn or throwing a tractor at you or some shit. We oughta global-warm the hell outa that bitch.

Sally Forth, 8/24/14

Faithful readers, summer is on the wane. Think of the pops. You know Ted has. The pops! Soon they will be but a memory.

Crankshaft, 8/24/14

If you’re looking for humor, try “the food is terrible — and the portions are so small!” But if you’re in the mood for mean, pinch-lipped, incoherent spite, you can’t go wrong with Crankshaft.

Ohmigod, Josh — just two days until you hit the road! HURRY HURRY HURRY!

–Uncle Lumpy

Faces come out of the rain

Sally Forth, 7/26/14

It’s lonely being strange. Boyfriend Jon showed Hilary a way to escape the refuge and isolation of her family, leaving Sally to consider whether a life of surrealist Monopoly games, chocolate bunny ears, thwarted Paris vacations, and the Star Wars Holiday Special would be enough to sustain her, even if they did come with the love of a good — well, let’s go with “man.”

So she coaxed Ted to the neighborhood barbeque, even though parties are minefields for them — over the years, they have managed to offend the few neighbors whose names they know, share none of their interests or experiences, and always wind up in a corner numbly wisecracking to one another, trying not to drink too much and sneaking looks at the time.

Neighbor Tom Racine, a sensitive host and a decent man, sees, understands, and deftly relieves their discomfort, leaving Sally in stunned gratitude for the three seconds it takes Ted to fuck it all up.

Herb and Jamaal, 7/26/14

Herb congratulates himself for a jerk tactic that hasn’t worked in all of history.

Shoe, 7/26/14

The Perfessor’s butt is so big OSHA makes him wear a vehicle motion alarm.

Has anybody else seen A Thousand Clowns? What I mean is, I think Sally Forth is A Thousand Clowns, which means Sally herself is Barbara Harris and I need to rethink my life.

– Uncle Lumpy

Mom will be so proud

Sally Forth, 8/8/13

Aw — seems like just yesterday she was a cute little fifth-grader, and here she is ruining her first summer romance with a pointless, self-destructive neurotic meltdown. Little Hilary, all grown up!

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 8/8/13

Wait! Tell us more about this “Charlie” player, cutting a wide swath through the maidens of Hootin’ Holler with his smooth talk, fancy ring, and bait-and-switch mating strategy. Is he unaware of the role played by firearms in his community’s courtship rituals?

Or perhaps Hootin’ Holler’s ancestral wimminfolk cobbled together their own ritual from scraps of Sadie Hawkins Day and Musical Chairs, in which eligible wimmin pass the ring down from one to another as one by one they wed, until at last the final maiden is doomed to wear it as she weds the Final Feller — the Feller No One Wants.

Yes, that must be it, judging from the look of shock, horror, and despair on Ginny’s face — it’s exactly how Loweezy looked wearing the ring at her own weddin’ a generation ago.

Mary Worth, 8/8/13

Swimming! Hiking! Stretching! A life of petty intrusiveness requires constant discipline. Not for the weak!

Herb and Jamaal, 8/8/13

Jamaal lives every day as though it were his last, and reeks so bad everyone around him wishes it were theirs.

– Uncle Lumpy