Post Content

Hagar the Horrible, 12/5/13

Like many Vikings, Hagar typically returns from his missions of plunder in the more civilized parts of Europe to his simple thatch-roofed house in Scandinavia. But now it appears that, just as Rurik led his followers to settle permanently in Russia and Rollo led his to Normandy, Hagar is turning his back on his desolate homeland and is setting up shop further south. It’s not clear whether he purchased this castle from some impoverished and presumably terrified minor aristocrat with loot he plundered elsewhere or if he just killed everyone inside and is going to move his family in without even bothering to wash the blood off the walls, but one thing’s certain: as far as Helga’s concerned, these are just temporary digs, a defensible base for their clan to occupy while Hagar steals more treasure and gathers more followers until he’s ready to conquer a truly grand palace where she can live in style. Haha, barbarian women, amiright fellas?

The Lockhorns, 12/5/13

One way that Loretta keeps herself entertained is by coming up with increasingly convoluted ways to say that her husband is a desperate alcoholic.

Post Content

Hagar the Horrible, 11/20/13

Isn’t this the way of the world? You try to rule your corner of 9th century Europe with grace and dignity, administer justice to the peasants, use the carefully stewarded wealth of your little dukedom or county to add a little splendor to your court — as much as anyone can expect in this fallen age — only to have a lifetime’s work destroyed in a day by vicious pagan raiders from the North. And then, to add insult to injury (and the injuries to your soldiers and servants, injuries dealt out by blood-soaked Norse swords, are quite literal), your son, your own flesh and blood, cares nothing for the meticulous day-to-day of rulership to which he’s the heir, but only dreams of adventure and travel and plunder and murder, and idolizes the unlettered savage who has burned everything you’ve ever loved.

Heathcliff, 11/20/13

Once upon a time Heathcliff had dreams, too, dreams of an empire of cake. We can only guess at what disappointments he’s suffered since, but we should perhaps be alarmed at the great lengths he’s going to this morning to announce his overwhelming ennui to the world.

Post Content

In order to put today’s Rex Morgan, M.D., into its full delightful context, we need to backtrack to yesterday’s strip. Heather, the Morgans’ long-ago former nanny who they decided to fire because they wanted to raise their daughter themselves but then she quit before they could fire her so she could start a day school where they’d send Sarah anyway, has now decided to sell that day school so she can monitor her lunatic husband full-time instead:

Panel from Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/13/13

Aw, Happy Otter Schools! That sounds nice!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/14/13

…nice for other children, that is. Lesser children. Sarah is different and shouldn’t have her mind contaminated by some garbage Canadian McPrivateschool chain. Only the very best and most elite schools are good enough for Sarah. Sarah’s non-Morgan classmates, who have also been Heather’s beloved pupils, will not be hearing anything about this “really good” school. The name is probably in some language that poor people don’t even speak!

Hagar the Horrible, 9/14/13

Oh, look, it’s apparently complaining about double negatives week in the comics! I’ll say this for Hagar: it’s at least true that negative concord was not a feature of Old Norse. (In fact, that may be why it’s absent from Northern English dialects!) So, props for historically accurate linguistic peevery, I suppose.

In other news, Hagar the Horrible is doing the “Hagar tries and fails to cheat on his wife” thing it does every few years or so.

Mark Trail, 9/14/13

Now we know why Senator Mason is so eager to drill for oil in Lost Forest: his daughter’s boyfriend desperately needs petroleum byproducts to maintain his magnificent pompadour. Our nation’s current strategic reserves simply aren’t adequate for the task.

Blondie, 9/14/13

Welcome to today’s Blondie, where the punchline only offers that element of surprise necessary for humor to those readers who are so senile that they have no idea what month it is. Do these guys know their audience or what?