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Pluggers, 4/12/07

In order to avoid projecting an image of snobbery, I’ll pass over the central point of today’s Pluggers to say … oh, God, no, I can’t. FOR PETE’S SAKE I JUST FOUND THREE JEWELRY BOXES ONLINE FOR UNDER TEN DOLLARS IN LESS THAN THIRTY SECONDS OF SEARCHING! EVEN CHEAPER ONES ARE AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL SALVATION ARMY OR YARD SALE! IF YOU CAN AFFORD JEWELRY, YOU CAN AFFORD A REAL JEWELRY BOX! CHRIST!

Ahem. Moving on, if we really needed to depict a plugger making a show of her frugality by using an egg carton as a jewelry box, couldn’t the she-plugger called to duty have been the kangaroo-lady or the dog-lady or a lady of some species that doesn’t, you know, LAY FREAKIN’ EGGS? Because when I first saw this cartoon, I thought the caption was going to be “A plugger makes jewelry from the bones of her children.”

Luann, 4/12/07

I’m an only child, which, for the record, is awesome, as I never had to learn how to “share” or any of that crap. However, it means that I don’t really have an instinctual feel for how brother-sister relationships work. But I’m pretty sure that no brother has ever boasted to his sister about the sexual playground that is his enormous king-sized bed. Plus, I’m pretty sure that nobody ever has boasted to anyone about their “super quilted pillowtop”, whatever the hell that is. Dude, if you’re going to boast about your bed’s comfort features, trust me: it’s all about the thread count on the sheets. Though that’s really more an “impress them while they’re there” feature than a “get them in there” feature. You shouldn’t be bragging about it. Especially not to your sister. Ew.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/1/07

Now, what’s this I hear about some of you actually complaining about this apparent climax to the current Rex Morgan, M.D., storyline? Are you people insane? What better way to nicely encapsulate the utter incompetence of everybody bipedal in this strip — health care professionals, cops, drug dealers and all — than to have the main villain — who, let me remind you, is (or until recently was) armed, like, with a gun — cowering and begging for mercy before some kind of spaniel mix who can’t weigh more than, what, forty pounds? Abbey the Wonderdog is awesome. I look forward to the next plot, where she successfully begins second-guessing Rex and June’s medical diagnoses. “Well, it’s probably flu, but — what’s that, girl? You think I should screen for pneumonia? Will do!”

Luann, 3/1/07

Don’t let the fact that I managed to snag such a lovely and charming wife fool you: in my single days, I wasn’t always 100 percent sure on just what it is the girls dug. Thus, rather than make assumptions, I’d like to pose a question to the ladies out there of appropriate persuasion and age range to date, if not Brad, then someone vaguely Brad-like. If some guy you had recently started seeing invited you over to his swingin’ bachelor pad/gingerbread house, and you walked into the living room and it was painted entirely black, which of the following would be closer to the first thing that would come to your mind?

• “Wow, an all-black living room! This is pretty cool! I dig this! I’m totally going to have sex with him!”
• “OH MY GOD HE’S BROUGHT ME INTO HIS RITUAL SACRIFICE CHAMBER GET ME OUT OF HERE HELP HELP HELP”

Dick Tracy, 3/1/07

I’m just putting this up here as a helpful reminder so that if anyone ever asks you, “Say, when did Dick Tracy stop being a reliably odd chestnut and start being a horrifying acid trip,” you can say, without hesitation, “March 1, 2007.”

Pluggers, 3/1/07

So … Cathy’s a plugger?

They’ll Do It Every Time, 3/1/07

“You sire a child, and for eighteen years they expect you to pay attention to them when you’d rather be watching television. Then they finally get out of your hair, but … wha-a-a-a-a? Now they have kids that you’re supposed to feel warmly towards! OH YEAH!”

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Luann, 2/9/07

So, to keep you updated, Bernice’s long-lost brother has returned from the army, and Luann has been one step away from flinging her panties at him ever since, and Brad has, disturbingly — very, very disturbingly — been simmering in a jealous snit. Today, Luann and Bernice speculate that Ben’s military skills translate easily to the bowling alley, which means that either they or I really don’t understand exactly what goes on in the armed forces. I should point out that I was in a bowling league for my entire adolescence (I even had a ball with my name on it!) but teenage girls singularly failed to hurl themselves at me in recognition of my mad bowling skills. Of course, I wasn’t some sort of black ops army dude who looked like Jared from the Subway ads, either.

Gil Thorp, 2/9/07

Man, I’m loving Coach Thorp’s gnomic response to Marty Moon’s badgering in panel two. “We think about a lot of things”? Positively Rumsfeldian. In fact, his face is looking a little like the former defense secretary in that panel, as well; maybe this is Rumsfeld’s new gig. Sure, it’s a step down, but work is work. “You go into the game against Central with the point guard you have, not the point guard you might want.”

Funky Winkerbean, 2/9/07

The hangdog, eye-bagged expression on the face of Darrin’s Mopey Friend Whose Name I Forget pretty much perfectly encapsulates the black hole of bleakness that is Funky Winkerbean. Why exactly does he look like that? Has he been repeatedly punched in the face by bullies? Is he in constant pain because of his inoperable bone cancer? Does he cry himself to sleep every night because his uncle has been molesting him for years? Pretty much any of these possibilities would fit right into this strip.

So, what horrifying tale will the password post-it set into motion? My guess: Someone sneaks in the newspaper office, uses said password to log on, then downloads vast reams of child porn; Darrin’s Mopey Friend is blamed, hijinks ensue.