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Shoe, 8/15/12

Haha, the first panel of this strip is amazing, with the Perfesser demonstrating some of the most spectacular ennui the comics pages have ever seen. The heavy lids, the eyes betraying the intense exhaustion that comes from being alive — it just goes to show how incredibly soul-wearying it must be to be a bird-man in Treetops. In panel two, the Perfesser perks up enough to lean a little towards the television (assuming that his spine isn’t just permanently warped by his self-loathing slouch) because he’s heard some intriguing news: is there another species even more depressed than he is? Let’s watch to find out!

Skyler, meanwhile, is depressed for more concrete reasons: the living room in his home only has seating for one, meaning that he has to either stand up while watching TV with the Perfesser or retire quietly to his room. It’s almost as if his uncle never wanted him to live there in the first place!

Apartment 3-G, 8/15/12

Well, I guess Evan’s family life has totally prepared him for having Margo as a boss! “Aunt Cathy, you know you’ve always been very important to me and I just want to thank you for … hello? Hello? Huh, I think she was starting to say ‘Whatever you need, my darling nephew, I’ll be there for you,’ but then we lost the connection.”

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 8/12/12

You know, I had always assumed that Hootin’ Holler was simply a community that was isolated from mainstream American life due to some combination of geography and poverty. But perhaps it really represents a voluntary intentional community of people who moved into the deep woods to avoid the omnipresent eyes of the modern security state? This of course makes even intracommunity relationships complex; the throwaway panels demonstrate the heightened expectations for privacy held by Holler residents. And now word has filtered in from the outside that the state’s advanced technology has rendered the protection offered by their isolation obsolete, which may precipitate a community crisis.

Apartment 3-G, 8/12/12

Ah ha, now the truth about Evan’s weird job interview stylings comes out! PRO TIP: If you are applying for a job because you have developed a crush on a lady who you saw profiled in a PR industry weekly e-mail newsletter, maybe don’t let her in on this until you’ve made yourself indispensable to her. By the way, Margo had an assistant for her (now defunct, apparently?) party-planning business; his name was Sam and he had to do demeaning things like reuse helium balloons and eventually he just sort of vanished, so, you know, watch yourself Evan.

Crankshaft, 8/12/12

Here’s a quick demonstration of the differences between the two Funkyverse strips. When characters in Funky Winkerbean want to spoil a perfectly good time at the county fair, they do so by dwelling on inchoate existential dread. When characters in Crankshaft do it, they do so by giving voice to intrusive and out-of-proportion anxiety about very specific crises, and by engaging in awful wordplay.

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Shoe, 8/11/12

The empty benches behind Roz actually speak rather well of the bird-people of Shoe-world. Rather than coming into open court to gawk at the spectacle of a poor delusional woman attempting to seek legal relief from her own biology, they have stayed away to give her some small amount of privacy and, to the extent possible, dignity.

Apartment 3-G, 8/11/12

Wow, this guy has answer to everything, doesn’t he? “Oh, is my main reference’s number not on my resume? Just take a look at … this business card! Oh, you don’t think someone from L.A. would have heard of your tiny middlebrow art gallery? Maybe that’s because I’m … not from L.A. at all, but from New York City — the very place where your art gallery is located!” Jesus, dude, just tell her you Googled her after you saw the job ad on Craigslist.

Beetle Bailey, 8/11/12

Sarge is not what you’d call an intellectual, so it makes sense that he looks so distressed at suddenly finding himself the subject of and a participant in an experimental work of recursive meta-fiction.

Pluggers, 8/11/12

Pluggers would rather spend their declining years staring in absolute silence at a tired cultural relic of their bygone youth than interact with their families. Also, they can’t be bothered to learn how to program a DVR.