So ends the Comics Curmudgeon Spring 2016 fundraiser. Thank you, generous readers! If you missed your chance to contribute, there’s still time — use the “Donate” button on this page, or this page for the full-on fundraiser experience.
So Heart-Throb’s video clears Curtis and Chutney and all is well. Say, I can’t tell whether Principal Washington is sporting a turban or dreadlocks there. If I were Derrick or “Onion” I’d be concerned: will this be settled at the point of his kirpan, or amicably over a gigantic spliff?
Gil Thorp, 5/6/16
And a nickname is born — two days too late for May the Forth be with you. Shucks.
The Captain learns Phantom is on his own side
And he’s happy to have him along for the ride.
The intel will help him do damage control
And he owes every byte to the Jungle Patrol!
Patrolmen are hayseeds and yokels and hicks
But they know one or two de-encryptioning tricks —
If you don’t mind manure on the drives that they stole
You can outsource IT to the Jungle Patrol!
Mary Worth, 5/6/16
Conflict, AT LAST!
“Not to study”? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
Xandu wants a queen, but he needs a decorator.
Just a reminder not to wait up in anticipation of Comments of the Week from me – enjoy Dagger’s genitalic hooks for another week!
– Uncle Lumpy
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Sally Forth, 5/4/16
In this up-to-the-minute retelling of The Producers, Ted acknowledges his unique talent for failure and conspires with Hilary to throw the season. But where will they find wealthy backers and dancing Nazis? I like the way this is shaping up.
Gil Thorp, 5/4/16
Diminutive second baseman Barry Bader follows his dad’s advice, “Never give an inch,” by arguing with everybody from Coach Kaz to fellow infielder Ken Brown here, about everything. Dad, industrial solvents salesman Del Bader, needs some arguments of his own to convince Center City Judge Lisa “Hang ’em” Hiatt, nemesis of the inebriated motorist, to let him walk despite blowing twice the legal limit into a Breathalyzer during a traffic stop (Psst … “It was the solvents, Your Honor – alcohol is one of them!”).
Looks like second-string terrorist Eric “The Nomad” Sahara is financing Dumat’s plot to destabilize Baronkhan and dethrone Prince Rex King, who should be dethroned and pantsed just for walking around with that name.
– Uncle Lumpy
Hey, it’s Spring, and May, and Sunday … and from the look of things, everybody’s feeling pretty darn good about themselves.
Here, Team Crankshaft congratulates itself for its tortured “blacksmith/booksmith” wordplay by showing in-strip proxies Lillian and Jeff gushing over it. But adopting Crankshaft’s sloppy malapropism will doom Lillian’s fledgling used-book business.
Sure, throngs of would-be readers will stream through Lillian’s quiet residential neighborhood, walk past her second-floor shop, and glance up at her sign. But being literary folk who know full well that a booksmith is a person who makes books, they’ll pass on the chance to climb all those stairs only to find an author, a publisher, or a bookbinder shooing them away.
Perhaps they’ll mutter as they pass by, “If only this town had a decent bookmonger — somebody could make a lot of money!”
The authors also missed the obvious opportunity to call the place “Mom’s attic” and sell old comic books. It’s like they lost track of the strip’s core mission.
Appearances aside, that’s not Disco John Belushi. It’s Hojo, recently destereotyped and crossing over from Lee Falk’s other creation, Mandrake the Magician. Hojo is fluent in six languages, head of global crimefighting outfit Inter-Intel, and a 10th-degree black belt in some martial art or other. But here, he’s just pleased as cheese to be out in the Seven Nations working together with his good buddy Phantom to suppress political opposition to Lothar’s brother. Lucky we can’t see his face when he learns they whupped the wrong guy; poor fella must be shattered.
But hey, why is that Phantom-cam shot of Otanko taken from the perspective of someone flat on his back? That can’t be good!
Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/1/16
June squicks out Rex as a form of bedtime recreation; it’s the only kind she gets. “Because you’re a doctor and she respects your judgment — despite your hilarious discomfort with anything even remotely biological. You think reproduction is icky, ‘doc,’ take a whiff of this guy.”
– Uncle Lumpy