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Apartment 3-G, 4/23/09

It’s obvious that Tommie, the most passive of the three 3-G girls, isn’t going to fight or think her way out her current contretemps with three-time Creepy, Dangerous Father Of The Year winner Joe Kelly. Today, the contours of her rescue by braver souls are taking shape. First, Ruby will blind the not-so-good doctor by throwing toxic cleaning agents into his eyes; then, when he falls to the floor in pain, Margo will beat him to death with her umbrella.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 4/23/09

Hootin’ Holler’s only clergyman is a greedy fraud, so it should come as no surprise that the religious educational level of the shantytown’s children is in such a low state.

Crankshaft, 4/23/09

The guardians of baseball’s integrity have failed to stem the tide of substance-driven cheating with arguments such as “Cheating violates the integrity of baseball!” and “Using performance-enhancing drugs will harm your health!” As a result, they’re breaking out the heavy artillery. “Do you know who cheats at baseball? Do you? Dirty, filthy communists, that’s who!”

Crock, 4/23/09

The Lost Patrol has been wandering in the desert for years now with only each other for company, so it’s really no surprise that all four of them have herpes at this point. But it’s still kind of awkward to bring up, dude.

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Curtis, 4/21/09

Ah, the innocence of youth! Way back in 2004, I found it unrealistic that Barry Wilkins would drop the word “chutzpah” into conversation. That, of course, was before Barry’s elder brother belched out the nonsense word-sequence “Say, they’ve set up a children’s biodiversity crafts and games stand,” making any quibbles about culturally specific vocabulary very much besides the point. At least I’m sure that some human somewhere has actually said “chutzpah.”

Apartment 3-G, 4/21/09

Tommie, if you defend yourself from sinister Dr. Joe by turning that can of HAIR SPRAY™ brand hairspray into a makeshift flamethrower, à la Rorschach from Watchmen, I will take back every bad thing I ever said about you.

And speaking of bad things, let’s look at just exactly what it is that Tuesday’s comics thought would make good grist for some light-hearted humor, shall we?

Crock, 4/21/09

Starvation.

Hi and Lois, 4/21/09

The naked exercise of economic privilege.

B.C., 4/21/09

Treasonous collaboration with a murderous oppressor.

Funky Winkerbean, 4/21/09

The gradual but unstoppable physical decline each one of us faces as we age, every new day being another step towards the grave.

Marvin, 4/21/09

The pungent odor of human excrement.

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Family Circus, 4/5/09

This has got to be one of the most heartbreaking Family Circus cartoons I’ve ever seen. After spending all day (and all of her young womanhood) shut in with her litter of squallers, she’s suddenly confronted with the prospect of interacting with another adult — someone who wouldn’t want to spend time in a living room covered with cheap plastic crap and poorly-colored pictures, someone who she might even want to look nice for. Naturally, it turns out to be just another one of the little neighborhood urchins. At least he’s proposing to take Jeffy outside, so she can weep with abandon.

Beetle Bailey, 4/5/09

At long last, Beetle Bailey admits that American soldiers in training might be preparing to do something other than make stale jokes about alcoholism, sexual harassment, and fisticuffs! Still, one has to hope that the final panel — in which it is suggested that Castro’s long-standing paranoia about a U.S. invasion is true, that France’s Pacific possessions will be an invasion target as America gets involved in its first-ever war with a nuclear-armed opponent, and that American soil itself will soon find itself under military occupation and martial law — is as far removed from reality as this strip’s typical content.

Crock, 4/5/09

The throwaway strip that sits atop each Sunday’s Crock always features the strip’s title character’s name carved into a stone monument sitting majestically in the middle of the desert, like some kind of Ayers Rock-like monument to the French colonial empire; generally random characters wander around said Crock-rock making confusing references to the joke to follow. So I suppose I shouldn’t be unsettled by today’s edition, in which the great monolith seems to be muttering obscenities to itself — but I am, OK? I really am.