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Women, amirite?

Phantom, 2/17/13

OK, so the Phantom adheres to the quaint old ‘50’s-TV-cowboy “shoot the guns from the bad guys’ hands” ethic, while Savarna just stone cold kills the bastards, no fuss. But the Ghost Who Negotiates ought to know that while employers may set terms and conditions (like uniforms, mmm…) for their workers, they can’t go around telling independent contractors like Savarna how to deliver their services. What I’m saying is if he hasn’t got a W-2 job on offer here, he’d better let Savarna continue her reign of bloody 1099-MISC slaughter, or there’ll be hell to pay with the IRS.

Lockhorns panel, 2/17/13

At last we know what keeps the Lockhorns together: as devout Catholics, death is the only permissible exit from their loveless hell of a marriage. But really, Father — a penance enhancement for Leroy? Isn’t Loretta enough? You’ve just heard the endless catalog of her horrifying sins against this poor man; have you no mercy? Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, Padre, I know you’re still in there!

Sally Forth, 2/17/13

Ted tries desperately to charm Sally out of her Seasonal Affective Disorder. I know you’re probably wondering, “Why should Ted and Sally have all the fun? Why can’t I enjoy the full-on Charles in Charge theme song karaoke binge experience?” Well, faithful reader, wonder no more:

Rex Morgan, M.D., 2/17/13

Apparently cancer stripper Dolores’ gender-sniffin’ powers work only on the preborn, otherwise how could she have missed out on Honey’s Big Secret? Or maybe Honey is always extra-careful to put the seat back down? Seriously, is there any other way to read this? “Rex, I want you to know I’m not like the other girls. Not like other girls at all, CHECK IT OUT DOC!

Poor Rex instantly shrivels back to his tiny prepubescent boyhood, to relive his psychosexual development in light of this revelation, and maybe get it right this time.

Crankshaft, 2/17/13

This has nothing to do with women, or of course humor — I just thought you’d enjoy seeing Ed Crankshaft in pain. Was I wrong? I don’t think so!


Hey, Josh is once again abandoning you for his annual winter sojurn at scenic Undisclosed Location. No fundraiser this time around, but I’ll be here through next Sunday. If you have any site issues, drop me a line at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net and I’ll do what I can to help.

♫ I want Charles in charge of meeeee … ♫

— Uncle Lumpy

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Prince Valiant, 11/18/12

OK, so when his cultured wife Lady Winnifred died, Lord Grunyard fell apart, leaving Lockbramble’s lush but chilly northern lands in the hands of greedy, archery-obsessed overseer Roger Runetyne, who impoverished them in a vain attempt to grow tea, which he figured Britons might like. Moral: marketing insight is no substitute for operational capability!

Ace archer rebel Rhoda Red Hood plans to enter and win Lockbramble’s archery tournament in disguise, humiliating Runetyne so the rebels can reinstall Grunyard as their puppet ruler. One of those Hunger Games-y “win the contest and save the land” plots.

And oh yeah Val and Gawain wander in, get caught and released by the rebels, and allay Runetyne’s fears that the royals are onto him by showing up at the castle plastered.

But mainly, after this week in Rex Morgan, M.D., I figured you’d just want to stare at that first panel for a little while.

Phantom, 11/18/12

While the daily Phantom putters along playing Who’s Got the Lion?, the Sundays loop back to the year-and-a-half-long Diana’s Rescue story, in which gun-totin’, pirate-hatin’, Phantom-lovin’ Captain Savarna played a prominent role.

Once the Phantom finds that skeleton in the final panel, he’ll search for proof it’s Savarna’s: the purple notebook she always carried, filled with her 785 practice signatures — Mrs. Savarna Phantom Walker* in loopy schoolgirl script, with little hearts above all the i's and j's.

* In the Bandar tongue, which consists mostly of i's, j's, and punctuation — the Bandar are an excitable people, and their language reflects it.
 

Funky Winkerbean, 11/18/12

Hey, let’s look in on the happy couple!

With his daughter off at college, Les married Cayla as a replacement foil for his execrable pun-like utterances. But Cayla is a take-charge ex-baseballer who doesn’t mind taking down a rival, or a mere annoyance like her new husband. And she is so done with his Lisa shit. Three strikes and you’re out, buddy.


That’s it for me: Josh will be back later today with Comments of the Week, and regular posts starting Monday. Thanks for a fun week!

–Uncle Lumpy

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/17/12

Remember back when some guy tried to hire June as a stripper and she turned him down? Well, times have changed and she’s up for anything now! A year and a half with Rex will do that to anybody, and I’m specifically including grandmothers and cloistered nuns.

Archie, 11/17/12

Archie is a self-righteous hypocrite who falsely believes himself human.

Hey, this is the second time this month comic strip characters have called themselves “we humans.” Are they growing aware of — and resenting — their fate as two-dimensional objects of mockery on the back pages of a dying medium? ARE THEY RISING UP IN RAGE? If so, hanging around this blog might not be the best idea right now, fair warning.

Apartment 3-G, 11/17/12

O MY GOD NOBODY TELL MARGO ABOUT THE REBELLION, OKAY?

Even as Evan poaches her clients for his Aunt Cathy’s agency, Margo prefers his dreamy neckrubs and obsequious flattery to Greg’s brutal honesty and unconscionable Lu Ann-noticing. But how the hell does she narrow her eyes like that? Maybe her skull is hinged like a snake’s, realigning at her will to transfix or engulf her prey? Brrr ….

Mark Trail, 11/17/12

Mark will go fishing with anybody but Rusty. And he sincerely believes somebody orbited a “Find Mark Trail” satellite like he’s Waldo or something. But despite long years of experience, he can’t tell who are the good guys and who are the bad. Here, Mark — let me help, and maybe you will put in a good word for me on that day of wrath?

Psst, Mark … it’s the facial hair. You’ll figure it out eventually — you always do, big fella.


— Uncle Lumpy