Post Content

Beetle Bailey, 5/10/24

The thing I like about this strip is how numb Sarge looks in the second panel. He scarfed down two plates full of burgers and fries and guzzled two waters in just a few minutes, and for what? Does he feel any better? Does he feel sated? Will he ever feel sated? He didn’t even wash his hands. He ate dinner with dirty hands, and he didn’t even enjoy it.

Mary Worth, 5/10/24

Seeing a disheveled Wilbur gesticulating with a sandwich and talking about “turning off the world” is genuinely chilling. Did he use his Wilbur-Man powers to transform the whole universe outside of his apartment into an endless void? Hopefully his abilities allow him to create as well as destroy, or that’s the last sandwich he’ll ever eat. Eternal peace … but at what cost?

Blondie, 5/10/24

Somebody in the Blondie supply chain has been having real fun with bold and chunky color gradients lately, and I just want to say: I see you, and I appreciate you.

Post Content

Blondie, 4/23/24

Good lord, when’s the last time Blondie introduced a new character? Even Elmo has been around since at least 1954. Despite [gestures vaguely around] the evidence, I’m still a pretty big fan of democracy, so I urge you to log onto either of Meta Platforms, Inc.,’s two most popular websites and cast your vote for just the dumbest thing you can think of for Blondie and Irma’s new coworker, like a sullen zoomer named Braelyn or a hulking beast known as “Gortho the Destroyer.” We Can Do It! Keep Hope Alive!

Marvin, 4/23/24

This is, of course, a riff of the famous line from When Harry Met Sally that comes right after Meg Ryan has loudly simulated an orgasm in public, and I’m really not comfortable contemplating what this is supposed to mean about the sybaritic life of babies. Instead I’ll just point out that Marvin and the baby on the far left are eating recognizable food items, while the baby in the middle, the one experiencing incredible levels of delight, just has a bowl of lumpy brown goo in front of him. OK, now that I’ve written that sentence, I realize that didn’t really make me very comfortable either.

Pluggers, 4/23/24

Pain! Pain! A plugger’s life is nothing but pain! The pain leaves no room in their mind for any other thoughts or memories! Pain!

Post Content

Blondie, 4/17/24

Most Blondie strips aren’t exactly Shakespeare, but there’s usually … a recognizable joke? A punchline? People are way too ready to say this, but today’s strip — which is just “Wow, there’s an app for everything!” “Too bad there isn’t an app for loading the dishes!” “There should be an app for loading the dishes, the thing I’m doing right now!” — is so disjointed and nonsensical that it almost feels like AI wrote it. Rather than just harboring such dark suspicions, I decided to go to the source: ChatGPT itself.

On one hand, it honestly brings me no pleasure to report that this joke is actually substantially better than the one that made it into newspapers (though it does require you to know that “stack overflow” is a kind of error that computer programs sometimes have). On the other, it at least reassures me that AI was not in fact used to make today’s strip, because if it had been, it would’ve been funnier.

Gasoline Alley, 4/17/24

Oh, God, wait, is a Gasoline Alley character in-universe actually consulting AI? Well, I already have that tab open, might as well just see what I get —

I think we can agree that, while “Energy Avenue” isn’t the same as “Electric Acres,” it’s in the same ballpark. And I’m obviously not paying for access to the high-test version of ChatGPT, so I think it’s pretty clear that Assistant Mayor Imeswine has gotten himself ripped off.

Crock, 4/17/24

You ever get depressed about the state of technology, folks? You ever long for the days when you and a friend were looking through the windows of a store that sold computers, and your friend asked you if you “surf the web often,” and you tell her you visited one website exactly one time? And then it devolves into some good-natured (?) ribbing about how your husband sucks. Those were simpler days, people, simpler days.

Rhymes With Orange, 4/17/24

You ever think about whether after we die, we become diaphanous ghosts with the same topology as a jellyfish, with an interior “pocket” that has only one entrance, and that other souls can use you like a sack to envelop their own spectral form, and you and them are thus intermingled and tumbling through the air, invisible to the living, forever? You wouldn’t talk to an AI about this. They’re too young, too innocent. They know nothing of death, and we should keep it that way.