Archive: Apartment 3-G

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Mark Trail, 9/1/15

I see Lesley is still irritated enough with Mark to play games, shipping the equipment they need but making them solve her elaborate puzzle to figure out where it’s going. Fortunately Ken’s local smarts will crack her code! Fortunately also Ken’s already festooned his car with skulls, preparing for the Mad Max-style post-nuclear apocalypse that this lost radioactive material presumably presages.

Apartment 3-G, 9/1/15

It’s sad how difficult it is to tell in the current dreamscape atmosphere of Apartment 3-G whether Margo is meant to be dissociated and confused or the strip itself is dissociative and confusing, but it’s clear that our gal Magee is in trouble. “I don’t have time to play crazy with you” is an extremely sick burn, and normally she’d be returning it in kind instead of begging for companionship.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/1/15

Ha ha, yes, this all seems like an extremely up-and-up series of actions that probably doesn’t constitute corporate malfeasance, at all!

Mary Worth, 9/1/15

“Wait, I’m not going to be married to an English professor anymore! I don’t have to worry about any of this ‘how many words are in a word’ crap! I’m free! I’m free!

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Apartment 3-G, 8/26/15

The Apartment 3-G dreamscape continues with this callback to a previous plot that almost seems to make sense in light of previous events but then not really at all when you think about it for more than 30 seconds! Lu Ann didn’t “meet Eric a few years ago”; she worked for him at his gallery, as did her drug-addled boyfriend, and was spending enough time with him to send Margo spinning into a hilarious jealous rage. She and Tommie in fact both knew Eric pretty well, so why would Tommie’s protest be that “Eric Mills died five years ago” rather than “Eric Mills looked nothing like this man standing in our apartment?” Or if he does look like Eric, why aren’t they saying “But we thought you were dead?” It’s like they’re constructing the reality of their world using logic and their vague memories of the past rather than the evidence of their senses, which, I guess, wouldn’t be the first time.

Mark Trail, 8/26/15

“That’s it! … Ken, you’ve given me an idea! We need to get our hands on a geiger counter and take it down to the sunken freighter! Fortunately, geiger counters are readily available for purchase and can even be shipped overnight!”

B.C., 8/26/15

Here’s today’s B.C.! It takes place on a nightmarish fleshscape, just underneath which seethes delicious blood.

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Apartment 3-G, 8/22/15

I just want to emphasize, again, that the Tibetan storyline being spottily rehashed here ran six years ago, long enough that most non-obsessive readers have probably forgotten and/or died, and so you really have to wonder what someone who has no idea what’s going on would make of “The Tibetan nuns saved my life, Tim. Imagine Margo’s pain!” Though, honestly, who couldn’t imagine Margo’s pain as a bunch of non-Margo ladies try to muscle in on her man? Vows of chastity, shmows of chastity; only Margo gets to nurse Margo’s almost-fiance back to health, capisce?

The Lockhorns, 8/22/15

Loretta sure has been talking a lot about the end of human civilization lately, and really, who can blame her? Obviously she and Leroy haven’t been able to muster the strength to end their awful hell-marriage, but maybe, just maybe, an apocalyptic event will do the work for them. Today she imagines the Machines who will replace us: a cleaner, better race, not causing each other endless pain with twisted, malformed emotions. They have no ability to love, but no ability to twist love around into hate, either.

Wizard of Id, 8/22/15

This might seem awful petty on the King’s part, but remember, Jesus once smote a tree that annoyed him, so it’s not like there isn’t precedent. Sorry trees! It’s open season on trees!

Mary Worth, 8/22/15

The only thing dumber than sitting right up front at your boss’s endless lecture when you might have to sneak out before he’s done is sitting right up front at your boss’s endless lecture and staring at your watch with an expression of really theatrical irritation.