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Mary Worth, 9/26/22

A lot of you seemed to think that Mary and Jeff’s dinner date was just a little palate cleanser before we moved on to the next, actual storyline. A lot of you apparently thought wrong! This strip will be delivering Mary Worth in: Ambulatory digestion until you beg for Wilbur seeming to be dead but then not actually being dead or whatever.

Judge Parker, 9/26/22

I dunno, Steve, Sam’s fallen on some hard times since Abbey kicked him off of her vast landholdings, and I hear the meth gangs play pretty well. He already has extensive contacts in the illicit drug trade, so maybe this isn’t the best of all possible plans?

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 9/26/22

I guess the joke here is supposed to be “Ha ha, Li’l Sparky is an influencer, like on Instagram and such!”, but that assumes the target readership of Barney Google and Snuffy Smith is familiar with that meaning of the word “follower,” and that is not a bet I personally would’ve made.

Dennis the Menace, 9/26/22

Oh, snap, looks like Dennis just got reaaaall menacing towards the property tax exemption for religious organizations!

Pluggers, 9/26/22

CLOCK’S TICKING, PLUGGERS

CLOCK’S

TICKING

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Judge Parker, 9/24/22

Oh, gee, I guess we’ve been spending so much time exploring the wildly seesawing emotional conditions inside the heavily fortified Spencer-Driver compound that we haven’t noticed that Cavelton at large has become a violent, drug cartel-ruled hellscape. This should work out great for Abbey when she becomes mayor, as she’ll be able to use a brutal crackdown on the gangs and the accompanying suspension of constitutional protections for defendants as a cover to go after her enemies, ex-mayors and ex-husbands alike.

Hagar the Horrible, 9/24/22

Aw, isn’t that romantic? Hagar and his band of Vikings have apparently established a trade route to Mesoamerica, but are keeping it a secret from anyone but their most beloved family members. Also, Hagar’s a terrible alcoholic (less romantic).

Hi and Lois, 9/24/22

I would not advise Hi to buy the contents of a mysterious POD from some guy who, as far as I know because I’ve never seen him in the strip before, just showed up in the neighborhood today! I’m not a lawyer but I’m pretty sure you’re accepting responsibility for however many corpses are in there if you do this.

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Judge Parker, 9/21/22

Oh, sorry, it seems the Judge Parker brain trust has heard your little diatribes about how Judge Parker is boring now because it’s all about its characters processing their mundane emotions in baffling and erratic ways. Well, that’s why we’re abruptly shifting gears and bringing back Steve the wounded special forces warrior to introduce this hard-hitting new storyline about the judge that replaced Judge Randy Parker, who cracked down on meth and fentanyl traffic … and whose whole family just got murdered. Or, sorry, assassinated. Assassinated! Will I be cancelled as a soft-on-crime lib if I point out that assassination is a kind of murder?

Funky Winkerbean, 9/21/22

Speaking of murder, I guess the Funky Winkerbean brain trust noticed they hadn’t pulled any grim shit since Bull Bushka drove off a cliff back in 2019. Well, here you go, you ghouls: Darrin and Jessica tracked down a real weirdo who hoards memorabilia from the TV station that employed Jessica’s father, John Darling, including the gun that a guy dressed as a plant used to kill him! Look at how Jessica and her husband are recoiling in shock at the casual way this guy identifies his ghastly trophy! Are you happy now, you sickos? Are you happy???

Curtis, 9/21/22

I appreciate the long game Greg is playing here — making an elaborate show of enjoying Curtis’s favorite music before cruelly lowering the boom in the final panel. I assume, like a master chess player, he anticipated multiple potential third-panel conversational gambits from his son, and had a sick burn in his back pocket for all of them.

Shoe, 9/21/22

Far be it for me to call a comic strip about talking birds who wear (some) clothes “realistic,” but I do think that its portrayal of life at a small-town newspaper has a certain truth to it, in the sense that it depicts a publication run with almost no employees, which almost nobody reads, and the few remaining editors can just use it to pursue their own personal gripes and vendettas as they kill time waiting for a hedge fund to buy them and immediately shut them down.