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Gil Thorp, 1/21/12

Ha ha, the one even remotely sinister/badass thing happening down at Milford Ink — underage kids getting tattoos without parental consent — isn’t even happening, apparently! But don’t worry, we’ve at last got to the dramatic meat of this basketball season storyline: arguments about tattoos are going to tear the Mudlarks apart, just like tattoos are tearing apart the very fabric of our nation. If these nice young men with flat-top haircuts can’t keep their cool when conversation turns to body art, then what hope is there for any of us? Ban tattoos forever, I say!

Mary Worth, 1/21/12

Oh, no, Mary isn’t happy just being a hero anymore; after all, heroes are mortal. Mary Worth works miracles. Let’s thank God, and Mary, who is the Prophet of God! ALL HAIL MARY!

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Pluggers, 1/18/12

Today I said to my wife the words that any woman longs to hear: “Honey, can you come in here and explain Pluggers to me?” Her take was that pluggers don’t know what an “app” is and assume that it’s derived directly from the word “apply,” and that therefore “applying” whipped topping (yes, obviously “topping,” not elitist whipped cream, what are you, some kind of fancy ooh-la-la gourmet French person) to a pie is an “app.” This makes at least as much sense than my own interpretation, which was “A plugger’s favorite app is eatin’ pie, or maybe just spraying wipped topping straight down their beak-mouths.” Which doesn’t really mean much of anything, but seriously, look at this panel, what the hell.

Gil Thorp, 1/18/12

Boy, Coach Kaz is all dressed up and being nice to everybody, which probably means that a break-up is in the offing. “Welp, good game, kids, but I’m leaving forever to take up my new job as an FBI agent in 1964.”

Luann, 1/18/12

Hey, remember, like, a month ago, when having TJ work for Ann Eiffel seemed like it would be an awesome idea? Well, we changed our mind, so that won’t be happening anymore. Don’t worry, we’ve long established that TJ has no need for a job for his income, so there are absolutely no consequences involved in today’s actions, which is an important element of drama.

B.C., 1/18/12

I’m always vaguely amused that B.C.’s ants are used as the players in various generic domestic melodramas. But they’re still ants! Ants who could be devoured by a predator at any time! I’m not sure if the surviving ant spouse means that the departing ant was appreciated for its nutritive qualities, or that it will at last find unconditional love in the chitinous bosom of some kind of ant-God in ant-heaven, but either way it’s all pretty grim.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/18/12

For a long time Rex has been losing badly to Sam Driver in the competition to see which smug, sexually repressed dick in a Woody Wilson-penned soap strip can have become more financially comfortable due to no real work or merit on his part. But maybe today is the day when the tide begins to turn!

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Dennis the Menace, 1/11/12

I never thought about itching the same way again after reading about how powerful and little understood a sensation it really is in this New Yorker article, which features, among other anecdotes, a horrifying account of a woman who had an unstoppable itch on her scalp that was so bad that she ended up scratching right through her skull. My point is that cutting your fingernails short enough that you won’t be able to scratch itches in a satisfying fashion is a 100 percent legitimate concern, and there’s nothing either menacing or cute about Dennis’s request, although maybe Alice’s smirk is supposed to indicate that she plans to do exactly this, as a subtle form of revenge for, well, pretty much everything Dennis has done since learning to walk.

Gil Thorp, 1/11/12

Are you tired of me talking about Gil Thorp yet? Well, too bad, because this is the first storyline that I’ve genuinely loved in years, so you’re just going to have to sit there and take it. For today’s strip, I’d like to point out that (a) most teenagers who want the new Twilight movie “for their girlfriend” (who “lives in Canada,” probably) are almost certainly capable of finding bootleg movies on the Internet, obviating the need to go offer some improbable story to a sketchy Kiwi tattoo artist, and (b) a vision of Batman t-shirt teen alternately crying and masturbating to the latest Twilight film jumped into my head unbidden upon reading the final panel.