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Apartment 3-G, 10/5/10

Oh, Lu Ann, never try to open up and have some personal sharing time with the master of emotional jujitsu. “I had feelings for Jack.” “Yes, he flirted with me too.” Ha ha, see how that went? Margo never got all handsy with Jack, oh no. Sorry your little feelings got hurt, though, Lu Ann! Margo sympathizes in an abstract way, but does not understand these “feelings” of which you speak.

Gil Thorp, 10/5/10

“Ease up!” Everyone knows that in Gil Thorp these two words are the prelude to hilarious violence. And indeed the person being admonished to so ease himself is last football season’s protagonist, simmering rage case/teen alcoholic Duncan Daley, so things seem to be going exactly as planned.

Spider-Man, 10/5/10

Peter’s sullen expression in panel three is priceless. “Aww, here we go, a big guilt trip about how we never schlep out to Queens to hang out with this old bag. I knew we should have scalped the extra ticket!”

Pluggers, 10/5/10

Does Pluggers have a long list of “pluggers go to the bathroom a lot” jokes to get maximum milage out of the template for this drawing? Apparently!

Marvin, 10/5/10

Ha ha, it’s funny because even the dog is repulsed by the smell of Marvin’s feces!

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So ends the Fall 2010 Comics Curmudgeon Fundraiser — a sincere “thank you” to everyone for your generosity, patience, or both. It’s never too late to contribute, of course — that’s what the little button on the left is for — but no fund drives for six months or so, promise. Now y’all’ve been so nice, here’s an extra helping of Saturday comic goodness:

Mary Worth, 9/25/10

Mary prunes and preens in smug self-satisfaction, never more menacing than when she’s bent two young lives to her will — in this case, by engineering the world’s most logorrheic second date.

Charterstone used to have a gardener, the vaguely ethnic Carlos Alora, whom we haven’t seen for years: the shaping of all lives is now Mary’s alone, and here we see her greatest achievement. No, not the shapeless lump in her hand — that’s just something to bleach for dinner. It’s on the left, her own precious rose — odorless, bloodless, perfect, and white as the grave.

Gil Thorp, 9/25/10

First among the many charms of Gil Thorp is its fidelity to “sports” themes that bore even those few readers they don’t utterly baffle. For example, the team rosters are dutifully trotted out every season, as though we’re going to clear away the piles of sports memorabilia cluttering our dens to find a pen and paper and write them down. And then there are the sportsy “issues” that define the season — like that thing Coach Tod Andrews saw! Was it Milford’s second-half offense-bogging? Could it have been the exhaustion of senior linebackers Cody Exner and Marcus Tedford? Perhaps the overreliance on “Mr. Excitement”, “The Ghost”, Jamaar Gaddis? Or was it the rookiehood of QB Miles Paris?

Hey, wake up — see what I mean? Nobody cares. At least from a male heterosexual perspective, today’s strip boils down to, “Hey, cute glasses! Not much of an ass. Hmpf, Gil’s faking it again.” Then on to Hägar the Horrible.

Bizarro, 9/25/10

I just stuck this in ’cause I like it.

The Phantom, 9/25/10

On a quest to rescue his beloved Diana, the Phantom infiltrates Rhodia’s feared Gravelines Maximum Security Prison, which sports the world’s most adorable prison logo! Take a look:

That’s where I want to go on my next incarceration! Maybe when the lovebirds reunite they’ll hang out on the beach before they leave? It’s happened before!

Crankshaft, 9/25/10

Just a lame hospital joke, but hey: he had an intestinal blockage that cleared up on its own yesterday and he’s still in the hospital why, exactly? And can’t sleep why? Is son-in-law Jeff still spiking his Metamucil® with wallpaper paste?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/25/10

Oh, we’re deep into the Rex Morgan Problem now, folks — starts out all Rexy with the finger and the latex and the KY and the Whoooooooop!, but morphs into a legal whodunit about records disclosure, segues into a political contest of wills, and here we are at “shady developer.” ZZzzzz … wake me for the gunfire.

And seriously, for somebody whose prostate has become as famous as the other donuts down at the diner, Hizzoner looks awful cheery in panel 3. And look, he’s running for re-election, right? Tell me again why can’t he oppose Jason King’s strip mall now?

OK, look: this is a Saturday post, on a freaking Saturday! Is that worth a couple bucks, or what? I thought so! Thank you!

Whoooooooop!

— Uncle Lumpy

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Ziggy, 9/15/10

Ziggy staring forlornly at the viewer and admitting that nobody likes or respects him, using language that was vaguely funny when deployed by Rodney Dangerfield 25 years ago, is nothing out of the ordinary. But I admit that my interest is piqued by the sour-looking man in the hat strolling behind our hapless misery-gnome. Was it an encounter with this sneering Babbitt that left Ziggy so forlorn? Did the bourgeois conformist glare at our hero and sneer “Put some pants on, freak,” before stalking off? Perhaps Ziggy’s sense of persecution has some basis in external reality after all.

Shoe, 9/15/10

Shoe seems to have abandoned his attempt to woo an uptight lady bird with Farah Fawcett hair and moved on to someone more his style: a busty, heavy-lidded fellow drunkard wearing something low-cut who likes to complain about things. “Dogs, am I right? Seriously, who do we have to blow to get some God-damned booze around here?”

Gil Thorp, 9/15/10

Oh, man, a whole year’s worth of boring and incomprehensible Gil Thorps is worth it if they’re necessary to frame the strip’s annual descent into fiery madness. This year’s ritual of cleansing flame features the newly elected co-captains placating the crazed torch-wielding mob by pledging to beat to death any Milford player who fails to adequately entertain the townsfolk.

Mary Worth, 9/15/10

“After all, the most important thing about my father is how he affected me, and since I cared about him less as a human being and more in terms of his failures to live up to some abstract ideal, once we made peace his continued presence in my life was frankly superfluous. His death was really more convenient than anything else. Am I right in assuming that this sensitive talk about my feelings is finishing the job of preparing you for sex with me that was started by the russet-colored meal I purchased for you and my orange suit/black shirt/wispy chest hair combo? I’ll bet I’m right! I’m a trained mental health practitioner!”