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Rex Morgan, M.D., 4/26-7/06

Well, no wonder she’s sick all the time, with these quacks for parents. I guess they’re trying to conclusively settle the “feed a cold and starve a fever, or vice-versa?” argument. Maybe they can convince Dr. Troy to open an all-dessert-based clinic, with Lou from Mary Worth as a silent partner.

Abbey, as always the smartest one in the room, looks like she’s unconvinced about the effectiveness of this protocol. She also looks to me disturbingly like a whacked-out Axl Rose (like there’s any other kind). But then, in panel two in Wednesday’s strip, Sarah looks a lot like Angela Lansbury, so I may be seeing things.

Beetle Bailey, 4/27/06

That’s funny, I think my initial response to “Beetle didn’t open his chute” would have been “If he isn’t careful, he’ll plummet to a terrifying, painful death.” Guess that’s why I’m not in the army!

Apartment 3-G, 4/27/06

“Yeah, your art, your passion, your life’s work … snoresville! It’s good thing you’re so dull yourself, so you don’t notice. I’m going to go do something more interesting now, like listen to myself talk. Ta!”

Judge Parker, 4/27/06

Oh, yuck. Is that what they’re calling it these days? I hope for his clients’ sake that he isn’t treating this time as billable hours.

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Pluggers, 4/24/06

I have tried — I mean, really, really tried — to restrain my college-educated, East Coast-dwelling, liberal urban elitism while reading Pluggers, holding my tongue as I am lectured day after day about how simple, down-home folks are morally superior to me. But this one really just pushed me over the edge, and I’m not what you’d call particularly clean. All right, Pluggers, listen up: If your response to spilling something on the floor is to aimlessly push it around with your sock, you live in filth, OK? I know your kitchen tile is already invisible under a layer of grime and sticky Fanta residue, but try to make a goddamn effort, for Christ’s sake. I hope social services comes and takes away your undernourished kids, the Humane Society comes and takes away your chained-up dogs, and the dentist comes and takes away the last of your meth-loosened teeth. And don’t try to tell me that you represent the “real America,” because I live in America and we have these things called paper towels.

Judge Parker, 4/24/06

Meanwhile, in the other America — the rich, white, freaky-red-haired-fright-wigged America — Sam and Abbey have turned from ruining Ned’s love life to cramping Sophie’s academic style. See, earlier this morning (by which I mean two weeks ago, JP-time), Abbey’s youngest received praise from her teacher on her latest school paper, which praised the concept of outsourcing. Today, the upcoming conflict is being telegraphed with a total lack of subtlety: Sophie is outsourcing her homework to India! This presumably includes the aforementioned paper about outsourcing, which may be a desperate attempt on the part of this strip that it does too understand the concept of irony.

Who’s to blame for this sad state of affairs? Evil, greedy CEOs, who have set a bad example to the nation’s youth by demonstrating that labor should be sought at the lowest possible prices, wherever you can find it? The Indians, for being so smart and yet working so cheaply that good old fashioned American fraudulant-paper-writers can’t compete? My vote goes to Sam and Abbey: I don’t care how many acres your estate is and how many pretty, pretty horses frolic prettily on it, nobody Sophie’s age (which is indeterminable due to crappy artwork, but is surely somewhere between 8 and 13) needs access to international wire transfer capabilities.

Sally Forth, 4/24/06

Boy, is Hillary in luck! She’s bonded with a moody goth girl just in time to learn about death!

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Judge Parker, 4/3/06

Panel one: who is this mystery hippie? At first I thought he was wearing some kind of flowing smock, but upon closer inspection it’s just a possibly untucked dress shirt that’s a particularly hideous shade of brown. Nevertheless, I’m not convinced that it isn’t the shade of Allen Ginsberg, cruelly condemned by a nonpoetic God to haunt Judge Parker for all eternity.

Curtis, 4/3/06

Panel 3: The poster. RAP: Nuns with guns. Two points:

• I look forward to the day when all mass media-themed posters are headed with a prominent indication of the genre in which the artist works.
• If there were an actual “Nuns With Guns” rap group, I would so listen to it.

Panel one: Mrs. Dr. Troy. What is it with these doctors? It’s like, “Look at my wife’s enormous chest! I’m totally not gay! [Nervous laughter.]”