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Family Circus, 6/10/08

Congratulations to the Family Circus for providing the most stomach-turning visual image of the day. Usually I think the limited palate used to colorize the King Features strips detracts from their visual impact, but there’s no question in my mind that that’s exactly the right shade of brown to use to instill total revulsion into the hearts of right-thinking people everywhere. With the lint on the side, it actually looks like Jeffy has a shrunken head on a stick. The little droplet of extra brown coming off the side in particular will be featuring into my nightmares.

Apartment 3-G, 6/10/08

Like so many artists before him, Alan is proving to be a remarkably inept businessman. I love his look of shock and disgust in the second panel as he contemplates the arrival of people who actually want to buy what he’s selling. Hey, Alan, who did you think was going to buy your “rock,” hedge fund managers and mid-level British aristocracy? He’s about to learn a hard lesson, which is that when you deal crack, you end up having to deal with crackheads.

Gil Thorp, 6/10/08

It’s painfully obvious that Elmer and his “BFF” Branden have run off together to get married so as to fix the former’s immigration situation, so I won’t dwell on that (except to note that, based on the experiences of friends and family who have wed Canadians, it does not work like that anymore [if it ever did] so please don’t try this at home). Instead, I feel a need to focus on Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp’s clothes. More specifically, what the hell is going on with her clothes? She seems to be wearing some kind of belted one-piece collared-dress-coullotte number, which, I feel, would be a bad fashion choice if such a thing actually existed, which I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/10/08

I’d like to say that “What makes you think I know anything about them?” is one of the most reasonable possible answers to “I need to know what happened to the old wrestling mats at Hamilton Middle School!” We also would have accepted “Wrestling mats? What the hell are you talking about?” But panel three shows why our be-soul-patched miscreant was so quick to flee the man he thought was a cop: he’s obviously incapable of standing up to even the gentlest level of interrogation. “Hey … is this about the kid that was smothered to death by those wrestling mats and then his body was thrown in the river? Wait, MRSA? What’s that? Oh, un, then never mind about the first thing.”

Mark Trail, 6/10/08

Ha ha, Cherry, it’s all well and good that you want to stand on your own, but I’m not sure that you’ve noticed that you have a vagina. The fact that Kelly Welly is similarly endowed and yet manages to function without a male guardian is the main reason why Mark and Doc find her so unsettling. But, you, my dear, are no Kelly Welly. In fact, I think you’re about to accidentally stick your hand into that pot of boiling water.

Six Chix, 6/10/08

Hey, everybody, here’s today’s Six Chix! It’s about chickens fucking.

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Apartment 3-G, 6/6/08

Reasons why Margo might have the Wedding March set as her phone’s ringtone:

• She’s read the The Secret and now believes she can make a marriage proposal happen by sheer force of will; thus, she surrounds herself with wedding-related media at all times.
• That ringtone indicates a phone call from her hapless assistant Sam, who’s been left in charge of her now largely forgotten wedding planning business. He’s probably calling for help about yet another peacock-related disaster.
• That ringtone’s been assigned to Eric, about whom Margo finally stopped caring about five minutes ago. He’s using his satellite phone to make his one phone call from the police station allowed by Chinese law before he has his organs harvested, but Margo’s decided to fall for Jack’s brushcut charms instead.

(By the way, that strip with Sam in it that I linked to above is more than a year old, and Margo is already boasting about her imminent engagement! So sad, so sad.)

Mary Worth, 6/6/08

“That’s right, Mary! Now that my mother’s literal dead weight is no longer holding me back, I’m someone of stature and consequence in this town! That woman in the hideously patterned shirt … that intellectual snob, out reading in public … why, I could have either of them thrown in jail, their lives destroyed, as easy I can clench my right fist, like so! I’ll be ordering you the house Chianti at La Rosa, but I won’t be drinking any; I’m already drunk with power!”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/6/08

“No way, man! You’ll pry my filthy, soiled wrestling mats from my cold, dead, MRSA-infected hands!”

Slylock Fox, 6/6/08

Cowboy one is out of his mind on mescaline; cowboy three is taking a “spirit journey” thanks to peyote; cowboys two and four are tweaking on good, old-fashioned meth.

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The Phantom, 6/4/08

So for the past few days, the Ghost-Who-Is-Pretty-Darn-Ripped and his wife have been strutting around in various states of undress on an abandoned oil platform somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, for no reason that you need to worry your pretty little heads about other than that it provides an opportunity for hot superhero-on-diplomat action. This has no doubt been delightful to faithful reader Bootsy, who can’t get enough of that stripey, stripey ass. Today’s strip is particularly hilarious in the stripey ass department, as we see that the Phantom sleeps in his stripey briefs and purple tights, though he lets his manly, muscled (and, if the final panel is any indication, nippleless) torso breathe.

Mary Worth, 6/4/08

About a year ago, I was forced to contemplate a question: Is there anything more vile than watching Vera and Dr. Drew have phone sex on bland and hideously colored sheets? At the time, I said “no”, obviously, but I now know that watching Mary and Ron have phone sex on bright and hideously colored upholstery is worse. KEEP THOSE HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM, YOU TWO.

Crankshaft, 6/4/08

By the look of glum despair on the balding green-shirted dude’s face, I’m guessing that this isn’t the first Crankshaft trademarked misanthropic witticism he’s had to endure during his 40+ minute wait in the security line.

Apartment 3-G, 6/4/08

Oh, Alan! That’s not “petty cash,” that’s Margo’s coke fund. She likes the powdered stuff, because unlike you she is classy, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be assaulting you like a crazed basehead when she realizes what you’ve done.