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In these Dog Days of August, who doesn’t welcome the chance to show a little skin? It’s cool … and it’s hot!

Beetle Bailey, 8/20/19

Aside from the odd ear or tooth, Sarge and Cookie are the same — so pity Sarge. Every meal forces him to confront, as in a mirror, the shapeless wreck Army food has made of his body. He eats until the shame overwhelms him, then starves until his next cheating meal. The cookies Mrs. Bailey sends her son are his only joy, and those he must take by force. “It’s not hatred, Beetle,” he sobs mid-beating, “I’m just hungry!”

Dick Tracy, 8/20/19

Honestly, Dick, you’re a married man with two natural children; how is any of this a surprise to you? Who do you think you are, Mark Trail? Amos van Hoesen? Brad DeGroot? Sam Driver? Earl Houndstooth? Gunther Burger? Dr. Jeff Cory? Rex Morgan?

Judge Parker, 8/20/19

Not the best outfit for concealed carry there, April. Pretty sure 90% of guys are gonna be staring straight up that barrel.

Zits, 8/20/19

Jeremy, everybody knows you and Zumba got history Exactly what sort of sandwich did you have in mind?

— Uncle Lumpy

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Crankshaft, 8/19/19

I get irritated when authors reward their fictional characters but I kinda understand it? I mean, if Rex Morgan punches your meal ticket for nigh on seventy years, why not slip the guy a free boat now and again?

But this crosses a line. Lillian is no towering literary lion like Judge Parker, earning endless sweetheart contracts for a string of unreadable books. She’s a second-string Funkiverse villain who ruined her sister Lucy’s life, then abandoned her to die in hospice care demented and alone. Here’s how to make it right: Lillian should take Eugene’s advice and write a memoir about Lucy, forcing her to confront her monstrous past and hurl herself in shame from her second-story bookstore window. Unfortunately, she’d probably just sprain her ankle, prompting knowing smirks all ’round.

Curtis, 8/19/19

Oh, look, it’s Curtis Learns a Valuable Lesson While Doing Summer Volunteer Work, a regular feature. This year’s Lesson will be delivered by Quincy Shearer, an unpleasant blind incontinent disabled alcoholic with toe fungus, two annoying corgis, and epic ear hair. Settle in for bitter invective against Kids These Days with their ridiculous allergies, TwitBooking on SnapFace, and expensive torn-up jeans. But enjoy your mockery now, because we’re all going to feel just terrible when Quincy’s Heart of Gold and/or Redeeming Backstory is revealed in a day or two.

Funky Winkerbean, 8/19/19

Speaking of Redeeming Backstories, here’s yet another Hallowed Elder with a Funny Name from the golden age of Pop Culture, and this one is a (dramatic music) woman! You know, Dale (neé Dalia) Messick broke into comics in the 1950’s with Brenda Starr. But I guess nobody wants to hear from some Depression-enduring, World-War-II winning, rock-and-roll-inventing has-been generation, at least not when there’s a pot-smoking, sex-having, self-indulging, Social-Security-bankrupting has-been generation in line right behind it.

Judge Parker, 8/19/19

Hey April, remember Saturday, when you threatened these two at gunpoint and demanded that they talk? Happy now?

— Uncle Lumpy

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On the Fastrack, 8/17/19

Say, here’s a long-running comic that started out as a pleasant ensemble gag-a-day strip but evolved into a soapbox for the observations, wordplay, and general adoration of a single character, who can do no wrong. Sound familiar? You can almost see Les Moore’s goatee poking out from under the goth makeup.

Gasoline Alley, 8/17/19

And here’s one of those evergreen “snatching death from the jaws of life” narratives. After decades of frustration and reader agony, Rufus’s picaresque woo is finally starting to erode Mayor Miz Melba’s defenses. As night follows day, this triggers his slide into “pain relief pill” addiction and death. Can’t blame him for wanting to quit this world, though, after that “off ow your feet” pun in panel 1.

Funky Winkerbean, 8/17/19

And here is the genuine article, authenticated by its ten-year time jump, week-long Crankshaft flashback/crossover, and overwrought exposition that falls apart on a moment’s inspection. To wit:

• “Stopping by” to give Crankshaft the funnel cake? Wait, weren’t Pete and Mindy just together at the fair? Has Mindy somehow moved into Bedside Manor?
• “I love his ‘donut on steroids’ line.” But that was back in the day, and Pete wasn’t there for it. Do these two spend all their off-panel time chattering about Things Grampa Said? Oh God, they probably do.
• “This is my engagement tiger that Pete won for me at the county fair baseball toss!” Got that, Gramps? Not, “We’re engaged!” or “We brought you a funnel cake!”, but a recap that manages to be both incomprehensible and wrong: a) Pete didn’t win the tiger, the carny gave it to him out of pity, a genuine real-world thing that happens every day; b) “I was planning to propose to you tonight …” is not a proposal, and “My engagement tiger?” is not an acceptance. (Funkyworld people do this weird proposal-not-a-proposal thing all the time.)

In all the confusion, it’s not clear whether Crankshaft is giving Pete the thumbs-up for a) his incompetent pitching, b) his incompetent wooing, or c) successful delivery of a funnel cake. My money’s on the cake.

Judge Parker, 8/17/19

Enough Funky — it’s the triumphant Apartment 3-G reboot! I like the buff new Papagoras! But adult women don’t really dress like the twins here, and since when is Margo the blonde?

Hi there! I’ll be sitting in through Wednesday the 28th while Josh takes a well-earned rest at bucolic Undisclosed Location, far up in the northern part of the state. Reach me at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net with any access issues, etc.

— Uncle Lumpy