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Curtis, 4/3/08

In the interest of saying something nice once in a while, I will admit that today’s Curtis cracked me up. The “Curtis is obsessed with Michelle” bit is overdone, but I found his dad’s anti-cheese diatribe to be completely hilarious. “Double cheese, melted cheese, cheesy sauce, cheesy sticks, cheesy cheese! Cheese cheese cheese!! It doesn’t make sense!” I mean, sure Curtis’s non-stop mooning is annoying, Greg, but at least he isn’t going to bust a vein about cheese.

Apartment 3-G, 4/3/08

“No, Lu Ann, I believe that women are parasites! And men are junkies! Those are just the core values I was brought up with!”

Actually, Alan isn’t so upset about taking a loan from a woman as he is at taking a loan from an elementary school art teacher. That’s a sign of being pretty darn hard up, that is.

Family Circus, 4/3/08

Jeffy thinks he’ll get in good with his God if he provides Him with new worshippers. IT DOESN’T COUNT IF THEY’RE INANIMATE OBJECTS, JEFFY. YOUR RUBBER DINOSAUR HAS NO SOUL TO SAVE.

Most of these toys I could vaguely buy as things you could fold up into the kneeling position, but that clown looks way too much like a living little clown homunculus. Frankly, it scares the crap out of me.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 4/3/08

Sure, it seems like this is a joke, but since he’s testing for syphilis, it actually could work.

Beetle Bailey, 4/3/08

It seems that knowledge of “goths” has penetrated into the Walker-Browne compound. GOD HELP US ALL.

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Curtis, 2/27/08 and 3/5/08

What? He can’t take it off? No mystery there: just the sad, predictable end of another “magical Gunk” story arc. But what’s with Gunk’s eyes in panel four of today’s strip? They seem . . . oddly . . . normal. Is this the end of magical Gunk? It’s a mystery!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/5/08

OK, looking for moral coherence in Rex Morgan isn’t likely to pay off, but let’s give it a shot. Niki is apologizing: why? Alternatives are: a) he did something wrong, b) his efforts turned out badly, c) he wants to bond with Rex. Did he do something wrong? He rightly refused a thief’s offer of the bank’s money, but later took possession of some of it himself. Maybe a little bad — he intended to keep the bank’s money — but c’mon. And he nobly turned down a reward. OK, did his efforts turn out badly? Rex, not Niki, burned the damned money! Finally, why would Niki want to bond with this dangerous, sanctimonious idiot? It’s a mystery!

Mark Trail, 3/5/08

OK, giving English usage advice to Mark Trail is likely to fall on deaf fists, but the fact that Luke’s operation might save him for prison isn’t ironic — nobody, including the author, is saying one thing and meaning another. But what is it? Karma? Cosmic justice? It’s a mystery!

– Uncle Lumpy

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Fate, monstrous and empty — a whirling, malevolent wheel;
Well-being is vain, and always fades to nothing – how you plague me!

What goes around comes around in the Sunday funnies:

For Better or for Worse, 3/2/08

Years from now — perhaps at her wedding — you’ll wonder how she turned out like this: the string of pointless relationships she shed so easily. The marriage to some pasty nonentity, based on no more than habit in the vain hope affection would follow. The grandchild — no kin of yours — whimpering alone in the dark.

Remember this night. Your daughter does.

Marvin, 3/2/08

A week of “Laffs” from Mom griping about the trials of pregnancy; now it’s payback time for Baby. Although this “people typing jokes into computers” theme is getting awfully tired, the nasal syringe on the desk is a good sign: after years of poop jokes, Marvin is finally branching out into snot.

Curtis, 3/2/08

O Curtis, consider your life’s path — listen to Barry! Sure, it may amuse you now to mock these good ladies as they try to bring some simple joy into their lives and others’. But consider your future! You could end up like old Cedrick there, clowning to coax one more rattling wheeze out of poor Harry’s failing lungs. Or worse, like some assistant comic blogger hurling slurs at hard-working cartoonists who only . . . who . . . .

Oh, crap.

– Uncle Lumpy