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Six Chix, 11/8/11

I’m a little puzzled by the visual messaging going on here. The icon of the culty robed figure, standing on a public street and holding a sign, is well established in the cartoonist’s vocabulary, if not in reality. Usually these people are bearded old dudes, and I’ll accept the divergence from the type here to accommodate Six Chix’s lady-centric mission, but the placards they carry generally offer dire warnings of impending apocalypse, and so I don’t buy the slightly too wordy (is “Hugs Not Drugs” trademarked?) anti-drug PSA this woman is perpetrating. I do like the sassy pill-popper’s response, though. “Oh, honey, I can go days and days without physical contact with another human being — let’s be honest, most of them smell bad or linger too long or both — but it’s been four hours since I took my last Vicodin and I’m really starting to miss it, you know?”

Mark Trail, 11/8/11

I certainly hope that Kelly Welly’s article is just an expansion of what we see in panel three, which is to say that it should be page after page of closeup photos of her eyes and bangs overlaid with free associated noun phrases. It will win every single Pulitzer Prize available.

Apartment 3-G, 11/8/11

Meanwhile, the Apartment 3-G writer and artist are in the middle of one of their “you are going to draw things if I have to kill you” spats. “What will it take to get you to draw clothing that is not boring? Lu Ann’s breasts? Is that what it takes? Fine.”

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Slylock Fox, 11/7/11

Oh, Reeky! Foiled by the waiter’s clumsiness … and some dirty snitch who will be getting a Reeky-style ass-kicking as soon as Reeky can post bail, obviously. Still, you have to wonder if this little restaurant heist hasn’t compromised our rodent antihero’s dignity a little bit. Reeky normally styles his hair to show his contempt for society, whether he’s wearing it in a resplendent pompadour/mullet, or maybe just a shag dyed manic panic red. For this job at a snooty restaurant, though, he apparently feels compelled to shape his hair into some kind of hideous helmet, which is presumably the sort of haircut that he thinks would be worn by a respectable people, whom he views through a veil of seething class-based contempt. I dearly hope that his plan was to whip off this awful wig and let his true ’do cascade magnificently down his neck, right before he pulled out his gun and snarled out his demand that the assembled bougies start handing over their valuables.

Luann, 11/7/11

So, things have been happening in Luann, and I guess I’m supposed to be telling you about them? See, Toni physically threatened Brad’s boss and we’re supposed to like her and … no, wait, uh, see, Toni and Anne are jockeying for Brad’s sexual favors and … gah, no, um, Brad needs this minimum wage job at Weenie World to maintain his dignity, and … er, by which I mean, Anne is thrusting her breasts around because Brad is supposed to be desirable, I guess, and you know what? I can’t do it. Look up the archives if you really need the info, I can’t deal with it.

Judge Parker, 11/7/11

“The problem is she doesn’t have a boy, and the solution is that she’s buying one! It’s like you’re not even paying attention.”

Apartment 3-G, 11/7/11

Ha ha, Ruby’s swivel-headed look of horror in panel two is priceless. “Lu Ann, I’ve held my tongue about your pre-marital whoring because I know that’s how they do things in the big city, but I will not let the sanctity of wedding dress symbolism be violated! Your dress is champagne colored or I walk.“

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Mary Worth, 11/2/11

OMG MARY JUST GO PICK-POCKETED RIGHT THERE IN HER ELEGANT LUNCHING ESTABLISHMENT!! Look at these thugs, with their futuristic whited-out glasses and leather vests and knitted belts and man-necklaces! We all know what that ensemble means: Filthy thieving hippies. Brazen ones too: it looks like after they purloined Mary’s wallet, they walked right around Mary and Toby’s table rather than scurrying off in the other direction, to get the kicks that hard drugs no longer provide.

Sadly, this probably means that there will be no pool party for us, as Mary will be far too busy filing police reports and canceling her credit cards to engage in any such frivolity.

Apartment 3-G, 11/2/11

Every once in a while you realize that the only reason that Lu Ann and Margo have managed to survive this long as roommates is because they function on such entirely different levels that they don’t actually understand what they’re saying to each other. For instance, Margo uses the phrase “bridge-and-tunnel man” to refer to a guy into a certain sexual act so perverse that even she finds it mildly distasteful.

B.C., 11/2/11

Say what you will about Apartment 3-G’s weirdly New Jersey-focused romance plot, but it has yet to indulge in a single Jersey Shore gag.

Crankshaft, 11/2/11

It used to be that you could say, “Crankshaft may be a miserable, hateful human being who will soon die alone and unloved, as he deserves, but at least we’re never forced to contemplate what sort of ugly and pathetic libidinous impulses lurk below his crusty, misanthropic surface.” Used to be.