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Arlo and Janis, 4/10/08
Dennis the Menace, 9/17/17

Margaret puts her own dark spin on the Arlo and Janis classic: It was her idea, Dennis, all hers. And she has so very many ideas for you.

Menace level: Grandmistress.

Spider-Man, 9/17/17

Hoo boy, is this strip ripping off Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade or what: underground standoff, chalice of immortality, unstable geology, icy-hot villainess — the works.

Now Tyrannus here is an evil guy, no doubt: he usurped a kingdom from good ol’ Melvin the Mole Man, busted up his wedding, put him in chains, talked endlessly about killing him, yada yada. But Spider-Man’s plan is to deprive a desperate old man of the cheap, plentiful resource he needs to postpone his degeneration and death? Brr. Dude, you’re a super-hero, remember?

“Next: Hiding Aunt May’s digitalis!”

Phantom, 9/17/17

Speaking of stretching the limits of heroism, seriously Phantom, I know Prince Valiant set a precedent, but you gotta crucify these guys? (OK those aren’t technically crosses, but what else: “isocelate”?)

And isn’t Guran reaching for the blackout powder just a little too often? Last time I looked, that was for enemies, or at least mildly inconvenient nosy reporters. But he may need a lot more of it once it dawns on these cops that the sketchy rando who shows up out of nowhere and starts explaining the crime to them is pretty obviously the perp. Has nobody in this godforsaken backwater seen a single episode of Law and Order?

— Uncle Lumpy

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Rhymes with Orange, 9/16/17

A long while back my daughter Cousin Lumpy came home from preschool and announced that they had a “case of headlights,” as if Fawn Valley Montessori had suddenly gone into auto parts distribution. Adorable, am I right? Not at all creepy or horrifying. See there, Rhymes with Orange? That’s how you do parasite humor! Not like this. Never again like this, please?

Sally Forth, 9/16/17

When Sally first showed off her hairstripe in July 2016, it was a narrow band of purple in her signature jet-black 1970s hair helmet. Fashion-forward Aunt Lumpy tells me these things need to be maintained or they grow out. But Sally’s seems instead to be spreading. Distressing, sure, but nothing to cut off your thumb over.

Pluggers, 9/16/17

After the explosion, the beaches of San Diego were littered with scraps of nylon, tufts of fur, and the bodies of suicides who could neither forget what they had seen nor live with its memory.

Phantom, 9/16/17

Time once again for Uncle Lumpy Reads Comics Even Josh Doesn’t Read, So Nobody Has To Except for Poor Me, a regular feature. Sad, because IMHO this strip has been on a narrative and artistic roll since March — seriously, click to zoom that middle panel; go ahead, I’ll wait.
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We’re wrapping up the moody, atmospheric “Death of the Phantom” story, and it falls to me to pick winners and losers:

• Winner: Diana, who can now counter Kit’s “I rescued you from Boomsby” brag with “Yeah, I saved you from getting shot by that punk in the weed shirt, and it’s your night to wash the dishes!”
• Winner: Babudan, who can now top Guran’s “I’m totally the Phantom’s bestie” with “Yeah, I totally saved his life — and that hat is ridiculous!”
• Loser: L’il Kit, who will now look at his Dad the way Prince Charles looks at the Queen.
• Loser: Old Man Mozz, whose “immutable prophecy of Phantom’s death” is looking more and more like either some kind of weird con or the bad dream of a demented stoner.

Hey there faithful reader! I’m sitting in for Josh through the 24th while he takes a well-deserved break. Give me a shout at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net if you have access or comment problems. Enjoy!

— Uncle Lumpy

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Mary Worth, 5/7/17

Derek strides determined onto the smoking deck, the new pack in his fist a taut miracle of cellophane, paper, foil, and promise — of hours of pleasant anticipation, indulgence, and satisfaction. Unguided, his hands repeat the practiced rituals that release the first cigarette of twenty — twenty, by God — fresh, firm, fragrant, perfect. The match glows in his cupped hands as the head burns off, and the flame kisses the tobacco into life.

Confusion of fire, ash, and ember as the tip catches, then blessed smoke, warming his lip as it passes over, bathing his mouth in electric mist. Teasing himself, he savors the pungent earthiness and the cascade of memories recalled from half a lifetime of such moments — in terror, bliss, bitter cold — before drawing it deeply in. Relishing the familiar catch in his throat, he closes his eyes to bathe in his first deliberate, fully conscious breath in what seems like months.

Full, rich, warm, radiant, held, and released softly as a sigh, his spent breath scrolls effortlessly back into the sea air. The shimmering silver column pauses for just a moment at the rail, then streams abaft to dissolve in the tropical sunlight.

The old, remembered music rises in his ears, an impossibly high-pitched sostenuto from a faraway violin, along with a placid warmth and golden lightness radiating throughout his body, and keen appreciation of every sensation etched into this moment: sun hot on his arms, breeze soft on his cheeks, whisper of scent from a woman now at his side.

“Oh, hi — Esmée, isn’t it? Nice day, huh?”

Curtis, 5/7/17

OK, this strip is a knockoff of the “Curtis is humiliated trying on clothes” series in which a dressing-room door flies open to reveal Curtis in his underwear before a sudden storeful of jeering spectators. But hey waitaminute – what is this crowd laughing at? Chutney’s an attractive girl, and has been drawn even more so over the years – surely “boyfriend” and “date” aren’t laughably out of the question.

So they must be laughing at Curtis — so selfish, shallow, and incapable of love or friendship that they snap pictures of the famous monster to show their friends. Curtis is headed toward a really dark place — no pepperoni for you, jerkwad!

Phantom, 5/7/17

Hey, I know I plug this strip like it’s my job or something even though folks like Josh aren’t feeling it. But c’mon, people: Jungle Patrol! Minions of ‘The Python’ Chatu! résumé-building “Leopard Print” Hawa and “Full Auto” Kay! Captain “Jimmy Olsen” Weeks in full “Golly, Colonel” mode! Colonel Worubu himself rocking his fourpack in that breechclout! That’s some quality entertainment right there.

But as long as the evildoers (evilsayers, really) are all lined up on their knees like that, I’d avoid saying things like “brilliant execution” — somebody in this crew could easily get the wrong idea.

Hey, that’s it for me — Josh will be back early tomorrow, continuing the great circle of whatever this is. Thank you for a lovely time!

–Uncle Lumpy