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Today’s comics prove that the right weapon can nurture a relationship’s fragile beginning, extend its blissy peak, or bring it to a swift, bitter end — let’s see how!

The Phantom, 3/19/10

Here, Ghost-Who-Walks and Captain-Who-Stalks enjoy a rousing round of armaments-themed flirting. It won’t be long before those torpedo doors fly open, the heavy ordinance rumbles from its below-decks shotlocker, and a gleaming projectile slides its way all snug up inside that smokin’ hot barrel.

Next: BOOM!, a shared cigarette, and lounging around in purple bathrobes.

Beetle Bailey, 3/19/10

Poor Major Greenbrass’s wistful longing for General Halftrack glows soft as a candle beside Sarge’s white-hot torch for Beetle. But still, when stirred by the roar of massed air and ground forces, the Major manages to gin up a heroic narrative exalting his beloved’s pathetic shortcomings to the grand scale of epic failures by history’s other insecure, tyrannical, nutjob runt.

Apartment 3-G, 3/19/10

Drug-addled, vengeance-crazed, and Papagoras-blather-benumbed, Bobbie nevertheless understands illegal commerce better than her mugger-turned-gun-dealer pal! Let’s go over the basics for him:

• Muggers have the upper hand in their transactions; salespeople don’t. Customers won’t cower like your victims did.
• People buy untraceable guns specifically to commit crimes; some of them will get caught. Therefore, do not create traceable associations with your customers!
• This specifically means do not accompany customers into banks, lest you be photographed together. ProTip — wearing a hoodie into a bank will not help you escape attention.
• Don’t confuse your customer by asking why you should trust her: your profession is founded on mistrust. And what’s the worry? That she’ll give you someone else’s cash? Seriously, even if she bails on you, you’re out what — busfare?
• Think ahead: once you give her the gun, why shouldn’t she mug you for her money back? This is Margo’s insane evil stepmother we’re talking about, right?

Mary Worth, 3/19/10

Alas, sometimes the love is real but the artillery only a reader’s earnest fantasy. Could anything less than murder avenge the months of graceless frolicking, the arid Marylessness, and the interminable sandwichery we’ve endured for a payoff as insipid as, “I learned fatherhood from a man who was not my father.” I swear, we had better get a pool party out of this mess.

Speaking of messes, you have to credit the hilarious squalor of the life Kurt fled and now reëmbraces. Bare lath on every wall, mirror cracked in ways mirrors don’t crack, every picture and doorframe askew. Kurt looks glad to see his pregnant girlfriend, though. He must not know the child is Wilbur’s.

Spider-Man, 3/19/10

Yak yak yak ogle yak yak yak yak yak. This is like 9 Chickweed Lane, with bigger chins and less actual fighting.

Crankshaft, 3/19/10

Pam’s pinchlipped scorn gives way to shock that her husband is as big a douche as her father, and that her creators still have no idea how to set up a joke — except for the cruel one they inflict on her, day after endless day.

Hey, Josh is off on vacation out in scenic Undisclosed Location; I’m subbing for the week. If you have site issues, please contact me at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net — to reach Josh personally, try bio@jfruh.com but expect a wait.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Gasoline Alley, 3/9/10

In order to keep their iron grip on their last remaining pool of paying customers — old people — newspapers are spreading the lie that consuming print media sates your hunger because it supplies you with nutrients as well as information. You should totally be spending your money on the paper rather than cat food, seniors!

Mary Worth, 3/9/10

“I mean, she didn’t love you so much that she wasn’t sleeping with other people, but, uh, free spirit, yeah. Plus I imagine that her career as a Minnie Pearl impersonator was really taking off then, so she couldn’t afford to settle down.”

Crankshaft, 3/9/10

And that’s when Pan and Jeff knew for sure that Crankshaft’s rambling diatribe over dinner the previous week, in which the old man had vowed to “track down and murder each and every one of those mouse-eared bastards while they sleep,” was no idle boast. The police couldn’t stop him. The army couldn’t stop him. They would have to take care of this themselves.

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Gil Thorp, 2/17/10

What Gil Thorp storyline would be complete without a little erotic coaching? Sexy Lady Mudlark basketball star Cassie wipes the sweat off her toned body coquettishly, waiting for her personal trainer/svengali Steve Luhm to sidle up behind her and whisper sweet nothings about “trusting her hands” into her ears. (Yesterday Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp admonished Steve for coaching from the stands, but nothing can stop him from sneaking down courtside to offer a little advice on the down low.)

Unfortunately, the usual baffling sports action occupies panel three, leaving us unable to properly assess whether Steve’s advice was for good or for ill. I’d have guessed “there’s another steal!” would refer to Cassie stealing the ball from her opponent, but the actual image depicts her be-afro’d New Thayer rival firmly in possession. Perhaps the “stealing” she’s doing involves stealing the poor girl’s life-essence, causing her right arm to bend unnaturally at the elbow (I defy you to draw an anatomically probably line from her wrist to her shoulder). This act of sporting witchcraft is a result of a series of incantational gestures made by Cassie’s left or “sinister” hand. Trust it, Cassie! Let the evil flow through you!

Crock, 2/17/10

I have to assume that someone over at Crock central feels bad for creating a character named “Grossie” solely for the purpose of being the butt of fat jokes and ugly jokes, and has now, using his authorial omnipotence, decided to rectify years of abuse by having her bewitch the local legionnaires. While this is baffling from an in-universe perspective, I do have to admit that I kind of like the look of melting-face despair on Supposedly Attractive Woman Whose Name I Forget in panel two, though it’s hard to differentiate it from melting-face confusion or melting-face sarcasm or any other melting-face emotion with which someone in Crock might be afflicted.

Crankshaft, 2/10/10

My goodness, Crankshaft has been taken up bodily to serve at the Right Hand of Our Lord, just like the prophets of old! This makes me feel all the better about not going to heaven when I die.