Apartment 3-G, 4/20/15
I won’t try to update you on recent goings-on in Apartment 3-G, because, well, let’s just say Josh’s theory that the strip has become a livestream of Margo’s psychotic delusions seems as good as any. This new guy/hallucination is either some jerk who’s been pranking Margo on the streets for a few months, or one of her string of unfortunate lovers stretching back to the Kennedy administration, and there is NO WAY I’m implying that those two are mutually exclusive. Maybe in Margo’s fevered imagination President Kennedy himself has come back from the dead to prank her on the streets, I wouldn’t rule it out. Quite the card, that Jack — and lookin’ pretty sharp for a man of 97.
Gasoline Alley, 4/20/15
Like everybody, I just knew when a custodian named “Gus Todian” showed up, he would pepper Mrs. “Trace Me” Hatley and the rest of us with pointless and annoying wordplay. But “vegetablearian” had me stumped until I realized it was an attempt to force “veterinarian” in there, as though veterinarians, or for that matter midwives, help out after insects hatch. From their eggs. Just shut up and go get Jetpack the wetvac, Gus — slurp up those nymphs mighty quick.
Judge Parker, 4/20/15
Long, long ago — decades before his New Year’s Day 2000 wedding to Abbey Spencer — Sam was the badass in this strip. He was a detective, then, doing the tough, messy work stuffy neither Judge Alan nor that effete smartass Randy had the stones or the competence to do themselves. But consigliere or not, it’s the Parkers’ name on the strip, and Sam will never be family.
Now, while Alan and Randy jet off to jungle compounds to quaff Cristal with willowy assassins and international arms merchants, Sam squats in this washed-out squirrel-infested trailer park, nursing his diminishing stores of supermarket plonk, ignoring his shrieking, entitled daughter, and picking fights with the likes of Dalton here and his meaty comrades. I wouldn’t go pointing that finger, Dalton — our boy’s having a very bad day.