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Mary Worth, 7/25/17

It’s not a secret than the world of newspaper comics is small and getting smaller, and that I’m the only person who’s written about newspaper comics every day for the last 13 years, so obviously I’m on the radar of a lot of comics creators. And sometimes they let me know that they’ve taken notice of me, by means ranging from outright hostility in the comic itself to sending me free stuff in the mail in a successful attempt to get me to promote their branded products. So whenever someone who looks kinda like me pops up in a strip, I think, “Hmm, is this someone who looks kind of like me … supposed to be me?” Generally things are made more ambiguous by the fact that my look isn’t exactly the least common around. Anyway, if this redheaded goateed doctor is in fact supposed to be my in-strip avatar, I take that as a compliment, as he seems supportive of his colleagues, a quality I admire and aspire to. Also the artists have noticed that I started wearing glasses last year, nice job!

One thing I (or my alter ego) won’t have to worry about is being the object of Dawn’s moon-eyed affections, which is I assume where this plot is going, since the Dawn plots always seem to involve her sad romantic life in some way, whether it involves her slapping people she was actually dating when she discovered them two-timing her or prolonging weird, sexually charged friendships with various amputees and adjunct community college faculty members. Our beardy doctor is clearly just passing through this plot to establish the awesome diagnostic prowess of the handsome Ned, who can swiftly identify rare and obscure maladies but also grows his hair long enough to cover his ears, because he doesn’t care what The Man thinks. Just the sort of fella to catch a young girl’s fancy, if you know what I mean, and you will definitely know what I mean after Dawn mopily falls in love with him for the next six to eleven weeks.

Family Circus, 7/25/17

Aww, Billy was going to feed that human finger to one of the tigers and make its whole day. Why you gotta be such a narc, Dolly?

Beetle Bailey, 7/25/17

You know, I had a post all planned out today about Funky Winkerbean and Crankshaft, and how the decade-wide time discontinuity between them is increasingly irritating — I even had some reference data about the average price of movie tickets over the years! — but then I realized that I was failing on my stated intention to not actually care about that, at all. They’re getting inside my head, man! So instead, here’s today’s Beetle Bailey, which is about how Otto the dog hates cat beatniks but sure wants to fuck sexy lady dogs. Also, this sexy lady dog may be a prostitute.

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Crock, 7/13/17

For whatever reason Crock has spent a surprising amount of time of late following the unlikely bond between Otis, a human boy, and Wadsworth, a bird that eats rotting flesh. Today, though, we learn the limits of trans-species friendship. Amongst his own kind, Wadsworth would no doubt say, “Wait, Crock feeds his men food that’s already begun to decay, making it perfectly suited for my species’ uniquely evolved digestive tract? Well sign me the heck up! I like eating putrid meat! When we go into combat and massacre our enemies, leaving their bloated corpses on the desert battlefield, that’ll just be another great opportunity for met to feed!” But he knows this is a delicate topic amongst humans, and so he becomes self-conscious about sharing his thoughts with his friend.

Beetle Bailey, 7/13/17

Say what you will about General Halftrack’s increasingly obvious mental impairments, but at least he knows that it’s better to plot a coup during ostensible recreation hours rather than at his actual HQ.

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Dennis the Menace, 7/1/17

Sorry, Dennis! It’s true that your father and one of his interchangeable co-workers at whatever his white-collar job they work at are going to be squaring off, mano a mano, right here in the living room, going at with their fists until one of them taps out, spilling blood all over the carpet in an attempt get in touch with their primal, violent masculine essence. But the first rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club, and like the eighth or ninth rule is that you’re only allowed to do Fight Club stuff after your kid goes to bed.

Beetle Bailey, 7/1/17

Ha ha, it’s funny because Plato has spent so long in the insular world of the military that he’s developed a withering contempt for the civilians he supposedly serves!