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Gil Thorp, 3/20/09

Well, it looks like it’s that time of the season again, when Gil realizes that whatever squad he’s doing a half-assed job of coaching at the moment won’t be going to the playdowns, so he needs to make a half-assed attempt to intervene in the most egregious of the stupid dramas playing out among his charges in order to vaguely justify his existence. (If he doesn’t do this at least once every three months, they’ll take his name off the strip entirely and call it The Magical, Boozy Antics Of Marty Moon.) This spring’s crisis involves the Larsons, who are quite reasonably worried that they’ve moved their kids from the warm, nurturing environment of New York City into some kind of degenerate hellhole where they’ve become romantically entangled with vest-wearing fans of wacky, theatrical surf-rock bands. Gil needs that coffee, as he’s almost certainly come straight to Chez Larkin from PUB, as his drunken logic indicates. “See, Ashley and Dylan are all right kids … but, uh, don’t judge Milford based on them! We’re better than they are! Not that they’re … bad … per se … uh, what’s with those rays coming out of your eyes? Are you trying to use your mind control powers on me?”

Luann, 3/20/09

Well, there you have it. The big TJ mystery that’s been percolating since at least last Thanksgiving has been … solved! All thanks to a paragraph of exposition crammed into a single panel during a porch-based conversation. That should prove wrong everyone who thought the resolution to this plot point would be prurient, or interesting.

Slylock, 3/20/09

What kind of message are we sending to the young people of today? Look at this irresponsible bird, giving birth to an out-of-wedlock egg and then just strolling casually off! Where is this supposed to be, the ladies room at Parrot Prom?

Family Circus, 3/20/09

The way this little mob of melonheads is gathering at the open doorway, all staring silently at their teacher in her new short skirt and listening to Billy’s slander, is making me nervous. Miss McElfresh is about to find out how they deal with the Sin of Pride here at the Keane Kompound. (Hint: It involves rocks. Many sharp rocks.)

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Mark Trail, 3/6/09

I’ve been trying, and failing, to come up with a funny about what appears to be the terrible, terrible ending to this Mark Trail storyline, in which we get to see Patty, after months of living in obvious and sustained terror of her slap-happy, quick-trigger husband, groveling for his forgiveness. It’s OK, you see, because he took his medicine (in the form of some antlers to the solar plexus), and he only did it because he loved her too damn much! Ha ha ha! We should have all known that Ken would turn out to be a good guy because, hey, the man can trim off his facial hair like a pro. And now they’ll live happily ever after, until the murder-suicide.

Mary Worth, 3/6/09

Now, passive-aggressive psychological manipulation in relationships — that’s all good fun. “It also makes people check their common sense at the door! Emotions sometime override intelligent thought! Why, you can find yourself trapped with someone who isn’t as they seem, whose sweetness and light in public disguise their need to control and …” “Jeff, I’ve said repeatedly that Adrian will be fine — why are you still talking? Do you want to be banished back to first base for the rest of the month? Do you?”

Gil Thorp, 3/6/09

Good lord, look at the pupils on New Wave Hairstyle Girl Whose Name I Don’t Know in panel one. By “Ashley,” she clearly means “that enormous bag of Ecstasy I bought yesterday.”

Funky Winkerbean, 3/6/09

Teen Lesbian Locker Room Hookers — coming up next, on the Spice Channel.

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Mark Trail, 3/4/09

With a mighty KEN!, Patty single-handedly redefines ludicrous dialogue boldface in Mark Trail; and with a weepy “It’s all my fault!” over the supine form of her beloved abusive husband, she single-handedly sets attitudes about domestic violence back decades. I look forward to seeing just how hilariously offensive the conclusion to this story is: presumably Patty will apologize for forcing Ken to slap her, Ken will allow the deer that caused him massive internal injuries to live in their house, the magazine article Mark will write about the whole affair will arouse such sympathy in the timber-purchasing community that Ken’s business will pick up again, and our happy couple will finally have that baby, which will quickly die of Lyme disease.

Gil Thorp, 3/4/09

CRUTCHES? CRUTCHES? NOOOOOO! I CLENCH MY FIST IN RAGE! See, what the doctor doesn’t realize is that Milford student-athletes are only valued for their physical prowess; like racehorses, once they’re injured, they’re put down so that they don’t take up valuable classroom space that could be used by a point guard who can walk unaided. Ashley knows that Coach Kaz will be waiting at her house with a shotgun if she fails to leave the hospital under her own power.

Alternately, Ashely might be enraged because she realizes that the “doctor” is actually Marty Moon, who has wandered into the hospital hoping to find some unguarded morphine.

Pluggers, 3/4/09

This may be the first time that Pluggers has inspired pity in me rather than rage or contempt. So, you thought the basic literacy and arithmetic skills taught in public schools would help you climb the economic ladder despite your lack of elite connections, eh, pluggers? You poor anthropomorphic saps.