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Slylock Fox, 9/29/09

My goodness, it’s been nearly three years since we’ve seen a Six Differences this bleak. In fact, this installment may be even more disturbing: while the previous strip featured a fish dead so long that it had skeletonized, today’s features a fresh corpse that’s just risen to the surface; the still-living fish hasn’t even had time to realize that it’s now sharing a tiny bowl with the floating body of the only friend it’s ever known. More disturbing still is the difference between the two little girls: in the scene on the right, the tyke is shedding a tear for her beloved aquatic pet, but in the left-hand panel she’s merely watching the process of death in wide-eyed fascination. Perhaps her “experiments” are now ready to move up the food chain. Don’t leave your meals or drinks unattended, mom and dad!

Mark Trail, 9/29/09

“They probably thought you were a wildlife ranger … you know, because you wear what appears to be a uniform, you bellow random facts about nature at inappropriate times, and you dish out violence as if you had some sort of law enforcement authority. You can see why the poachers made that mistake! Uh, I mean, I heard that they made that mistake, from other kids. Please don’t punch me!”

Dick Tracy, 9/29/09

So Ringo, having once ratted out his corporate bosses, is now ratting out his carnival underlings; the lesson we are meant to draw appears to be “never trust a whistleblower.” I guess I never expected Dick Tracy to get on board the “Stop Snitchin'” bandwagon, though I suppose learning about crimes from informants denies Dick the fun of beating confessions out of suspects.

Beetle Bailey, 9/29/09

Otto, your continued presence in the barracks is on the line here, so you might want to not openly acknowledge your responsibility for infesting Camp Swampy with vermin.

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Mark Trail, 9/28/09

You know, while Mary Worth was busy pumping ancillary characters full of lead, Mark Trail was offering us the unusual spectacle of Mark experiencing the blunt head trauma-induced unconsciousness he usually dishes out to others. The most exciting aspect of this plot is not any danger to Mark — surely he can punch out any real threats to his person while out cold — but rather the prospect of the feeble Rusty wandering aimlessly around the alligator-lousy swamp with only his own hideousness to protect him. Sadly, we weren’t even given a few hopeful days to imagine that Mark’s deformed ward had been devoured by a vicious reptile before the inevitable discovery that he’s safe and as sound as he ever is. I don’t normally root for stories about children in danger, but I make exceptions for Rusty.

Dick Tracy, 9/28/09

Oh, also, the soulful-eyed clown, who I pegged as the killer pretty much upon his first appearance, then briefly began to doubt the guilt of, turns out to be the killer after all! Thank goodness Dick Tracy isn’t challenging my plot-related expectations in any way, as I don’t think I could handle it.

Really, though, Dick Tracy isn’t particularly interested in the big-picture strokes of the plot at all: it’s not a “mystery” strip as such, as your most base impulses (sinister clown = murderer, in this case) are always likely to be correct. No, it’s more interested in following its own drifting dream logic on the way to its predetermined conclusion. So Ringo was a corporate whistleblower (OK) who was put into the care of the witness protection program (makes sense) and given a job running a circus (wait, what?). And Mr. Pops the clown worked at the company Ringo worked at, or something? And now everybody at the circus also hates Ringo, because … they also were profiting from the corporate malfeasance … or maybe because he’s a bad boss, or bad ringmaster? You might think that Mr. Pops’s accusations will be followed up on in future strips, but trust me, they won’t, not to anybody’s satisfaction, anyway. It’s not so much a “tightly constructive narrative” as one of those nightmares you have where you’re in college or a new job and you haven’t done your homework or learned any of your duties, and everyone is mad at you, and eventually you get eaten by a tiger.

Pluggers, 9/28/09

Kudos to pluggers for allowing their yards to revert to prairie, but why not go all the way? They ought to allow their human-style dwellings to decay, strip off their clothes, and go feral, like the beasts that they are. Of course, they may be devoured by their wild cousins who never experienced the softening effects of domesticity, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Beetle Bailey, 9/28/09

Ha ha, Sarge is closing his eyes and pretending that the only words he hears are “bigger,” “job,” and “harder”! Jesus, I am a fucking twelve-year-old.

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Fall Fundraiser update: So ends another week-long gin and Ritalin® binge Comics Curmudgeon fundraiser. Thank you for your generosity and patience — no more formal appeals until spring, promise! Of course, you can still contribute and get a bracelet for a week or so, and that PayPal button is always over there at the left — just sayin’! Seriously, you folks are great – thank you!

Funky Winkerbean, 9/26/09

Oh, game on! Serial P.O.W. Wally Winkerbean proves that brain damage or no, he’s still the disarming ladies’ man of days gone by. Five bucks on the table and Rana beams “that’s my Dad”, while Comic John’s Bat-cojones shrink to Robins’ eggs.

Apartment 3-G, 9/26/09

Shaky or no, drug-addled elderskank Bobbie Merrill still got game — Ruby passive-aggressively accepts her downgrade from friend to neighbor, as Bobbie deftly snags the “Doc” for an afternoon Ambien® adventure.

Beetle Bailey, 9/26/09

And who doesn’t love the Game of Golf? Ida Know, Not Me! General Halftrack’s odd collection of fetish objects suggests he’s a latter-day Fulvius Stella, lighting a white candle to invoke the tender mercies of Celtic Horse Goddess Epona, with a martini at the ready to help him forget That Special Night. And all dressed up for a Morris Dance.

And a few final matters —

Margo Moments — a Fall Fundraiser special, part 7

Apartment 3-G (panels) — 2/17, 3/13, 4/28, 5/11, 5/31, 6/23, 7/15, 7/21, 8/23, 9/13/2009

OK, you’re all up to date. What will Margo do next? Stay tuned!

Margo, Queen of the Universe!

Bracelet pix have been pouring in from Middle Earth to deepest space (the final frontier!), furthest Afghanistan to deepest Baltimore, Santa Royale General Hospital to a lonely Lhasa morgue. Here’s a sample:

Thanks to faithful reader AeroSquid, Josh and Amber and Aunt Lumpy for photographic documentation of the awesome range and power of What Margo Would Do!

Josh will be back Sunday; look for Sunday comics in the early evening. This has been a fun week; thanks, everybody!

— Uncle Lumpy