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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 6/6/11

A recent trip to the mall left me idly contemplating the ways of modern capitalism. Did you know, young whippersnappers, that the corridors of indoor shopping malls used to stretch unbroken from the Foot Locker on the east to the Ann Taylor on the west, with plenty of room to walk and no kiosk in between hawking kibbutz-manufactured facial cream or calendars with cute cats on them or the same cell phones you could buy in two or more of the actual stores in the mall? You see, most shopping malls are owned by publicly traded corporations these days, and investors aren’t just satisfied with retail that makes more than it spends: it has to show an improved profit year after year, which for most older shopping malls means trying to extract more revenue from the same square footage, which in turn means that the broad indoor boulevards where old people used to power-walk are now cluttered with as many little store-shanties as management can cram in there.

In its own way, the mighty pharmaceutical industry is in the same boat. With most Americans now doped up on between two and six prescription medications at any given time, the drug companies need to cast an ever-broader net to find more customers for their wares. And if that means that pharmaceutical reps need to travel to isolated communities where you can still get burned at the stake for selling cures that aren’t root-based poultices, and then seduce lumpy-faced inbred nurses as if they were the villains of a Flannery O’Connor story, then so be it. The demands of the capital markets are remorseless.

Mark Trail, 6/6/11

“You have to return to your loved ones once every six months or so, and make a few days’ worth of awkward small talk! That’s what I do! Don’t worry, you don’t have a wife, so you won’t have to touch lips with anybody.”

Crankshaft, 6/6/11

Ha ha, it’s funny because everyone hates the bus drivers and wants them to quit! Some people are trying to make sure they quit, by threatening violence against them. That … that’s the punchline?

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Luann, 5/27/11

Ha ha, can you imagine an “urgent, passionate” “rap” set to Luann’s poem of self-loathing, “I’m A Snot”? You don’t have to, because you can go to the URL in the third panel and listen to it yourself, in all its glory! But don’t feel obliged to do so. I think we all remember the “Hey Boy” debacle of 2010. Maybe it’s better to hear the passionate, urgent rapping, in your mind. Maybe if you heard it in your actual earhole, it would be so passionate and so urgent that your passionate urges would get the better of you and then who knows what would happen next? Probably some pulsating of some sort, that’s what! So, in conclusion, barf.

Crankshaft, 5/27/11

What must it be like, being a prisoner of the Funkiverse, where every depressing, emotionally loaded conversation (and lord knows there are plenty of those) must be accompanied by smirking? And, in Crankshaft, puns? I think Jeff in today’s strip made some kind of bargain with his cruel God: “Look, I’m trying to share some really heavy stuff with my wife here, OK? I’ll smirk, or I’ll pun, but please don’t make me do both. Let me keep a shred of dignity!”

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Crankshaft, 5/22/11

A linguistic phenomenon I’ve always found quite interesting is the so-called euphemism treadmill, a process by which taboo concepts are denoted by euphemistic phrases that eventually become so strongly associated with the taboo concept that they lose their euphemistic quality, which means that a new euphemism is required. Take the phrase “toilet paper,” for instance. “Toilet” is itself a euphemism — it originally referred to a lady’s dressing table, and thus was used obliquely to refer to other things that might go on in a room where the lady dresses. Now, of course, the word is intrinsically associated with a porcelain bowl that you poop and pee into, so we need new ways to talk around it. Thus we now have “bathroom tissue,” or, as the sign I noticed in the supermarket today would have it, “bath tissue,” a phrase that would make zero sense out of cultural context because, really, who would use a tissue in the bath? It would get all soggy and clumpy! While this is a topic I’m interested in, this has all largely been an attempt on my part to ignore the fact that today’s Crankshaft features the strip’s title character complaining about the chafing on his tender anus, but I’m going to have to admit to myself now that this attempt has not worked out.

Apartment 3-G, 5/22/11

As usual, the Sunday A3G offers no new plot information, but does provide a slightly different take on the week’s events. Surely we’re all glad to have seen the fourth panel here, in which a wild-eyed Paul holds the bouquet in a strangling grip and proclaims his intention to take it to his grave.