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Apartment 3-G, 6/20/11

“I just rented the car” may be Margo’s best ever scheme for distancing herself from a nice gesture offered to one of her so-called friends. “Look, Lu Ann, Tommie’s the one who remembered that today was your birthday, remembered that you still lived with us, and realized you were dumb enough to want to go to the ‘psychic center of the state,’ whatever the hell that means. At first I thought it was the ‘psychotic center of the state’ and I was afraid this was some conspiracy to get me to visit my crazy stepmother in the loony bin, but I’ve been assured that this is some new age mumbo jumbo that won’t result in me being shot at, or hugged. Anyway, long story short, turns out Tommie doesn’t have a driver’s license — every time the DMV guy running the test starts asking questions, she bursts into tears — and you can’t take a cab or a subway to this shithole, so I got guilted into driving. I’ll be waiting out here thinking about something else while you commune with the spirits in there or whatever. And no hugging!”

Archie, 6/20/11

More proof that these Archies are reruns: a modern-day strip would probably feel a need to spin this into some kind of joke about writing things on Facebook walls that would only prove that nobody involved in creating the strip has ever actually used Facebook; but back in simpler times, we were instead just treated to Archie wrapping his pillow around the Veronica-signed yearbook, the better to use it as a masturbatory aid. Also of note are the industrial strength brackets on Jughead’s suspenders, which demonstrate how difficult it is the hold up the pants of someone who has absolutely no hips to speak of.

Mary Worth, 6/20/11

Mary looks like a contemplative lowland gorilla in panel two, and no wonder: she’s confronting a situation that gives rise to contradictory meddling impulses. On the one hand, she’s already been tasked with the job of meddling Liza out of Drew’s life (and, with any luck, out of town altogether); on the other, when confronted with a hysterically weeping woman in a bathroom stall, her urge is to help solve that woman’s problem, which is why she spends so much time hanging around public restrooms in the first place. Will her desire to fix everyone’s life override her goal of making things right for her not-boyfriends layabout son?

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 6/20/11

Elviney is of course Hootin’ Holler’s most unrepentant gossip, but laughing in poor deluded Hassie’s face seems a little cruel even for her.

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Beetle Bailey, 6/10/11

You might have doubts that Plato, Camp Swampy’s resident braniac, would pass his time reading the bluntly named Weird Stuff. But at least he’s leagues ahead of Beetle, who apparently isn’t intellectually equipped to deal with words or even pictures and is instead just perusing some publication that consists entirely of colored squares arranged in simple patterns. “Ooh, it’s the red-yellow issue!”

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 6/10/11

What are we to make of the fact that a host of mosquitos buzz into this strip only after we learn that Eliviney has doused herself with some dubious home-made insect repellent? It could be that we’re supposed to believe that this homemade Off knockoff is of such low quality that it actually attracts bugs; however, I prefer to think that Hootin’ Holler, among all of its other well-known negative qualities, is permanently afflicted by thousands of mosquitos, whose presence we normally aren’t privy to because they’d be tedious to draw. Panel two shows us the hellish bug-world in which the characters live at all times, just to emphasize why extreme measures of homemade chemistry are necessary in this case.

Dennis the Menace, 6/10/11

Dennis and Joey are already gravitating towards activities that compensate for their lack of skills. I guess having low expectations for yourself is kind of menacing?

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 6/6/11

A recent trip to the mall left me idly contemplating the ways of modern capitalism. Did you know, young whippersnappers, that the corridors of indoor shopping malls used to stretch unbroken from the Foot Locker on the east to the Ann Taylor on the west, with plenty of room to walk and no kiosk in between hawking kibbutz-manufactured facial cream or calendars with cute cats on them or the same cell phones you could buy in two or more of the actual stores in the mall? You see, most shopping malls are owned by publicly traded corporations these days, and investors aren’t just satisfied with retail that makes more than it spends: it has to show an improved profit year after year, which for most older shopping malls means trying to extract more revenue from the same square footage, which in turn means that the broad indoor boulevards where old people used to power-walk are now cluttered with as many little store-shanties as management can cram in there.

In its own way, the mighty pharmaceutical industry is in the same boat. With most Americans now doped up on between two and six prescription medications at any given time, the drug companies need to cast an ever-broader net to find more customers for their wares. And if that means that pharmaceutical reps need to travel to isolated communities where you can still get burned at the stake for selling cures that aren’t root-based poultices, and then seduce lumpy-faced inbred nurses as if they were the villains of a Flannery O’Connor story, then so be it. The demands of the capital markets are remorseless.

Mark Trail, 6/6/11

“You have to return to your loved ones once every six months or so, and make a few days’ worth of awkward small talk! That’s what I do! Don’t worry, you don’t have a wife, so you won’t have to touch lips with anybody.”

Crankshaft, 6/6/11

Ha ha, it’s funny because everyone hates the bus drivers and wants them to quit! Some people are trying to make sure they quit, by threatening violence against them. That … that’s the punchline?