Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/23/19
I know we all complain about how generally dull Rex Morgan has been since Woody Wilson retired as writer, but have we considered that maybe this is all at Rex’s request? Like, you try dealing with stripper subletters and MRSA epidemics and funeral brawls and helping your nanny defraud her stepson out of his inheritance, twice. You’d probably want a few years of low-stakes medical practice too! But hopefully for our sakes things are going to pick back up with a case of poisoning, or at least maybe factitious disorder, and a patient capable of producing a pissyface worth of Rex himself.
Panel from Slylock Fox, 6/23/19
Ha ha, check out the answer to this “mystery”: Slylock knows that no Great White shark could survive in a cage for three days, but he and Max still swam away, because they “didn’t want to take chances.” What’s the matter, Slylock? Not willing to stake your life on your endless supply of nature facts? Do you lack the courage of your convictions? I guess Weirdly is safe in his undersea hideout, with his probably but not definitely fake shark, to plot against us!
I guess if you had asked me “Hey Josh, you wanna see a dead plugger,” I would’ve said “Sure, absolutely,” but it turns out that stumbling across the actual depiction of a plugger corpse in the funny pages actually unnerved and upset me. Sorry, everyone! I don’t want to see the dead body of some folksy animal-human hybrid abomination given the trappings of a decent funeral! Keep this business out of the paper, in my opinion!
Funky Winkerbean, 6/23/19
I’m no Ken Burns, but I would definitely start my Butter Brinkel research into finding out how Brinkel managed to make a career out of blatantly ripping off Buster Keaton.
Panel from Dennis the Menace, 6/23/19
The actual punchline was about video games or something, but I firmly believe that the absolute funniest image the comics will have to offer for 2019 will be a furious Mr. Wilson, having just been alerted by some article in the paper to the existence of people born after 1982, barking “Martha! You ever heard of these millennials?” at his wife while she brings him the cocktail that will hopefully spur his typical three-hour afternoon nap, when she can finally get some peace and quiet.