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Apartment 3-G, 8/21/08

Wow, I had always assumed that the Professor was a Professor of some squishy liberal arts discipline, but apparently it turns out that he’s a psychologist or something? And, naturally, now that he’s seeing patients again, it’s important that he cut that beard back to a goatee and bust out the Just For Men, because the last thing you need is a therapist who’s a shaggy old greyhair.

In panel two, the part of Ruby will be played by the severed head of Bette Davis.

Blondie, 8/21/08

“Hey, Dad, wanna hear another crazy idea? Maybe we should move the TV closer to the sofa so I don’t have to watch the Olympics sitting on the God-damned ottoman.”

Gil Thorp, 8/21/08

So, as near as I can tell, the lesson to this Gil Thorp storyline is going to be: “Minor league baseball, with its need for bus rides and farm-seeing, is all well and good if your only other choice is being deported to (gasp!) Mexico, but white kids should totally go to college instead.”

Herb and Jamaal, 8/21/08

Um … did Herb’s wife turn off the kinky as soon as they go hitched? That’s about the only interpretation of this I can come up with. That or she stopped supplying him with heroin.

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Blondie, 8/15/08

Having apparently decided that his nonstop regimen of bingeing and (I assume, based on his rail-thin physique) purging isn’t punishment enough for his poor body, Dagwood has now taken to torturing his innocent bladder.

Crankshaft, 8/15/08

Truth in labeling laws ought to require that every single installment of Crankshaft and Funky Winkerbean contain the phrase “an undercurrent of melancholy that I can’t quite seem to put into words.”

Marmaduke, 8/15/08

Marmaduke is overplaying his hand here: his owner has made the baffling decision to try to balance a good-sized sandwich on a plate, a bowl of potato chips, and, um, a plate of some sort of cube-things on his lap with no tray or other support of any kind, so at least half of that food is going to be on the floor in short order.

Momma, 8/15/08

Ha ha! Momma’s doctor is a monstrous cannibalistic fiend who feasts on the organs of the elderly.

In unrelated news, for everyone who has been able to endure the Foob Wedding Of The Century by consoling themselves that once the vows have been uttered, it will all be over: Ha ha ha ha ha.

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Blondie, 8/12/08

Yes, Dagwood, whenever we see the lithe, toned bodies of male Olympic athletes at the top of their form, their muscles rippling, their torsos dripping with man-dew … well, who doesn’t think of “hot dogs?”

Dennis the Menace, 8/12/08

“Oh, and just so you know, I’m wearing one of those anachronistic union suits for no reason that anyone can fathom, and it’s unbuttoned in the back, obviously, so you’re pretty much guaranteed to see my ass.”

Gasoline Alley, 8/12/08

In a desperate bid to hold on to its share of the ever-shrinking comics page, Gasoline Alley has decided to woo readers by dishing up hillbilly T&A. All I can say is: better here than in Snuffy Smith.

Gil Thorp, 8/12/08

This is the moment where Gil realizes that he needs to stop giving out his cell phone number to his loser students and their lame-ass parents. I’m pretty sure that he’s flying the Thorp-Plane over to the Hughes residence in order to strafe it and put an end to these irritating phone calls once and for all.