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Gil Thorp, 7/2/08

Don’t get me wrong, a two-week Sicilian vacation is pretty awesome. There’s nothing like opening up the window in the morning and looking down the hillside to the Mediterranean below, knowing that in a few minutes you’ll be splashing in its delightful blue waters. But then, there’s also nothing like getting up in the morning and seeing the total insanity that is Gil Thorp, so I can’t stay on vacation forever. I suppose that’s supposed to be Bugs McCoy standing on the dock there, but it looks more like some escapee from a nightmarish genetic research lab, its unformed potato-like head glistening facelessly in the morning sun. Then there’s panel two, in which Elmer proves that “average high school arm” is some sort of code for “disproportionally and hideously plump sausage-thing.” Upon deportation Elmer will be trapped in legal limbo at the border, since Mexico will refuse entry to this obviously dangerous mutant.

Marmaduke, 7/2/08

Given that Marmaduke can wear clothes, write English words, order bones over the Internet or possibly by phone, and, um, smoke cigars, I’m not actually convinced that we can rule out smoking in bed. I do admit that it seems more likely that some terrified citizen, tired of Marmaduke’s rule of slobbering canine terror over this hapless suburban community, has attempted to burn him to death while he slept.

Hagar the Horrible, 7/2/08

That’s pretty big talk coming from someone who appears to be wearing a hand-torn burlap sack. To say nothing of those damn potato-feet.

Luann, 7/2/08

dun da dun da DUNNN dun da dun da dun dunn

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Dick Tracy, 6/18/2008

OK, so Dick’s waiting for a robbery, and Shirl tells the crime boss to wait for Dick’s move. We’ll check back in six months or so: maybe a meteor will hit or something.

Gasoline Alley, 6/18/2008

Yeah, that meteor thing? Could totally happen! But this is just poor Rufus trying to navigate between his hallucinatory Messiah, celebrity cat-chef Meowrice, and the hellish pit of his own despair. Also, “. . . eat and drown our sorrows. . . ?” Rufus looks a tad old for Similac, and not quite ready for Ensure.

Gil Thorp, 6/18/2008

You know, not long ago this strip was flirting with linearity, coherence, and representational artwork. Sure dodged that bullet, didn’t they?

Pluggers, 6/18/2008

Clenching extra-hard on her cigar butt, our noble plugger vows that this time she won’t forget to ask Dr. S. for her Aricept® refill.

You know, all these comics are from the Tribune Media Service. If I were Chicago’s Department of Water Management, I’d be looking into that.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Family Circus, 6/10/08

Congratulations to the Family Circus for providing the most stomach-turning visual image of the day. Usually I think the limited palate used to colorize the King Features strips detracts from their visual impact, but there’s no question in my mind that that’s exactly the right shade of brown to use to instill total revulsion into the hearts of right-thinking people everywhere. With the lint on the side, it actually looks like Jeffy has a shrunken head on a stick. The little droplet of extra brown coming off the side in particular will be featuring into my nightmares.

Apartment 3-G, 6/10/08

Like so many artists before him, Alan is proving to be a remarkably inept businessman. I love his look of shock and disgust in the second panel as he contemplates the arrival of people who actually want to buy what he’s selling. Hey, Alan, who did you think was going to buy your “rock,” hedge fund managers and mid-level British aristocracy? He’s about to learn a hard lesson, which is that when you deal crack, you end up having to deal with crackheads.

Gil Thorp, 6/10/08

It’s painfully obvious that Elmer and his “BFF” Branden have run off together to get married so as to fix the former’s immigration situation, so I won’t dwell on that (except to note that, based on the experiences of friends and family who have wed Canadians, it does not work like that anymore [if it ever did] so please don’t try this at home). Instead, I feel a need to focus on Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp’s clothes. More specifically, what the hell is going on with her clothes? She seems to be wearing some kind of belted one-piece collared-dress-coullotte number, which, I feel, would be a bad fashion choice if such a thing actually existed, which I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/10/08

I’d like to say that “What makes you think I know anything about them?” is one of the most reasonable possible answers to “I need to know what happened to the old wrestling mats at Hamilton Middle School!” We also would have accepted “Wrestling mats? What the hell are you talking about?” But panel three shows why our be-soul-patched miscreant was so quick to flee the man he thought was a cop: he’s obviously incapable of standing up to even the gentlest level of interrogation. “Hey … is this about the kid that was smothered to death by those wrestling mats and then his body was thrown in the river? Wait, MRSA? What’s that? Oh, un, then never mind about the first thing.”

Mark Trail, 6/10/08

Ha ha, Cherry, it’s all well and good that you want to stand on your own, but I’m not sure that you’ve noticed that you have a vagina. The fact that Kelly Welly is similarly endowed and yet manages to function without a male guardian is the main reason why Mark and Doc find her so unsettling. But, you, my dear, are no Kelly Welly. In fact, I think you’re about to accidentally stick your hand into that pot of boiling water.

Six Chix, 6/10/08

Hey, everybody, here’s today’s Six Chix! It’s about chickens fucking.