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Mary Worth, 4/28/19

Havin failed to convince Estelle with some random article she found on her phone, Mary’s been forced to break out the big guns: Saint Paul, Apostle to the Gentiles, and four-time NBA champion Earl “The Pearl” Monroe.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 4/28/19

The poker players are all shocked because they know that sawmill’s been closed down for years. After years of reading this strip, I refuse to believe there’s any large employer within sleepwalking distance of Hootin’ Holler.

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Six Chix, 4/15/19

Happy Tax Day, everybody! Six Chix is here to remind you that even beloved cultural icons like the Easter Bunny — seen here with a stack of W-9s, 1099s, and 1040 Schedule Cs, denoting his freelancer status — currently live in the precarious world of the gig economy, where traditional labor protections cannot reach.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 4/15/19

I was going to do a bit about Hootin’ Holler’s place in a sad, post-apocalyptic universe, based on the local post office’s affiliation with the “Newnited States,” but then I remembered that I already did that back in 2010, so instead I’ll just point out that the IRS considers income from barter and criminal activity to be taxable, so maybe Snuffy shouldn’t be quite so relaxed.

Crock, 4/15/19

Speaking of repeated jokes, I was about to say that I was willing to put aside my feud with Crock and admit that I found this strip unironically funny, but then I remembered I did the same thing when it ran last May. I guess I’ve just validated Crock’s decision to run the few funny strips in its vast archives every eleven months or so, because people will enjoy them and probably won’t remember that they’re repeats unless they really dedicate some thought to it.

Gil Thorp, 4/15/19

Oh, I guess this Gil Thorp plotline is about how student-athletes should stay well-rounded and have outside hobbies, like knitting or blogging. Girl student-athletes, I should specify; obviously boy student-athletes need to dedicate all their energy into Mudlark athletics in a desperate attempt to be in the tiny percentage of high school students recruited into elite collegiate athletic programs, so they can dedicate all their energy during college into sports so they can be in the tiny percentage of elite college athletes who end up in the pros.

Mary Worth, 4/15/19

I like Toby’s big smile as she announces to Mary that “poems can be cribbed off the Internet,” like she’s figured out how to beat Big MFA at their own game. She can’t tell Ian, of course, as it would make him realize his whole career path of sharing the wonders of literature with undergrads is a sham, but she’s gotta tell someone.

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 3/30/19

I’m not sure which I find more disturbing: the physical configuration of Snuffy’s body, which appears to be lazily half-flopping off the bed as he refuses to put even the least bit of effort into maintaining his dignity, or the topography of the Smif property, which is now revealed to be riven by one of Hootin’ Holler’s innumerable chasms. At least we now have an explanation of why Loweezy is willing to stand for so long by the mailbox, waiting for missives from the outside world to arrive.

Judge Parker, 3/30/19

Oh, hey, it turns out the reason Marie’s husband Roy faked his death is that he was deep in debt to the mob — like, $1.3 million dollars deep — and now they’re gonna come after Marie! Of course, the Parker-Drivers are famous for writing large checks to make problems go away for the family, but Marie’s not exactly family, is she? So, who do we think the “people” Sam knows are who he’s going to foist Marie off onto? I’m guessing it’s the big shot Hollywood agent who he connected with the rural marijuana farmer back in 2012. Hope that mineshaft is still climate controlled!

Zits, 3/30/19

I know this supposed to be “the newspaper comics poking fun at itself,” but I dearly hope it’s actually presaging a vicious feud on the funny pages. Watch out, 90-year-old legacy strips! Young whippersnappers that have only been on the comics pages for a mere 20 years — the blink of an eye, really — are coming for you!