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The Lockhorns, 5/13/17

You know how it works: with worms, you catch a little fish. With a fish, you catch a much, much bigger fish. One big enough to swallow you whole, you and your entire boat, and end your hated life with your hated spouse forever. Look at Leroy’s faraway smile, just thinking about how death, blessed death, will finally come for him, deep in a friendly fish’s warm, snug belly.

Mark Trail, 5/13/17

Oh, hey, uh, are these guys still talking? Apparently! The hairlines are continuing to retreat at a rapid pace. Look at the dude in panel one! He’s just got a hair island left in the middle of his head! For a gruff cop, that is an extremely avant-garde hairstyle.

Mary Worth, 5/13/17

OH MY GOD IT REALLY WAS A TRAP

AND NOW KATIE’S BEEN LEFT TO DIE IN A FILTHY ACTUALLY PRETTY CLEAN HAITIAN BATHROOM

LEAVING ENTERTAINER ESMÉ FREE TO SEDUCE DEREK, AND THEN SMOKE CIGARETTES WITH HIM AFTERWARDS

THIS IS AMAZING

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Mark Trail, 5/9/17

Each of these law enforcement officers is all man, of course: you can tell by their rugged features and aggressively retreating hairlines. But it seems they’re the last bastion of traditional American can-do masculinity in this sadly enfeebled police force. They should be out there rounding up known scumbags and maybe busting a head or two in the interrogation room in order to track down these kidnappers, but instead they’re sitting around the office waiting for the fancy college-boy “analysts” to pinpoint what’s “weird” about the criminals’ “body language” like they work at Us Magazine, for Pete’s sake! Hurry it up in there, brainiacs, Mark can’t keep up his soothing baritone monologue for much longer!

Spider-Man, 5/9/17

Oh, man, remember the greatest Newspaper Spider-Man storyline of all time, when Aunt May wanted to marry the Mole-Man and Spidey tried various techniques to thwart their love but eventually the nuptials had to be called off because Aunt May developed Spelunker’s Lung and couldn’t serve as queen of her beloved’s cave-kingdom? Welp, it looks like Mole-Man has finally decided he needs to see his ex again, if only to know that she’s happy, and since Aunt May has no Instagram for him to stalk, he’s got to do the logical thing: follow her to Los Angeles, keeping a low profile by dressing like a dwarfish pimp, and stare at her longingly through the window of a restaurant that’s recently rebranded itself to cash in on La La Land fever. Sadly, one of LA’s omnipresent Beefy Restaurant Security Guys is going to escalate this situation into an unnecessary mole-fracas.

Beetle Bailey, 5/9/17

I’m not sure who exactly this joke is for. Is it meant to prompt legacy comics trufans into knowing grins as they think to themselves “Ah, yes, Beetle Bailey and Lois Flagston are siblings, one of the comics’ lesser-known trivia items”? Is there a Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC company-wide policy on occasionally reminding readers of this, so as to lay the groundwork for the Bailey-Flagston Cinematic Universe franchise they’re very much hoping to sell to a major studio? All I know is that this postal worker is justifiably horrified to learn about the abuse and bullying that are sadly rife in our armed forces.

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So ends the Comics Curmudgeon Spring 2017 fundraiser — thanks one and all for your attention, patience, and generosity. This is a uniquely agreeable little corner of the Internet, and it’s a privilege to help keep it going. If for any reason you just missed your opportunity to contribute, you can sneak a late one in here — I won’t tell anybody, promise.

Crankshaft, 5/6/17

Remember how Andy Greenhat there got this story started with, “Ed has had a passengerless school bus for years”? You do? Hey, maybe you should be producing Crankshaft — can you draw bricks?

Judge Parker, 5/6/17

Well, it’s pronounced “bomb,” but let’s not quibble.

Mark Trail, 5/6/17

Baldy and Billy committed a heist, but a guy shot Billy so Baldy took off his mask and kicked the guy. The getaway driver (who was not happy about the mask thing) dropped Baldy off at the airport so he could go in, take a woman hostage at gunpoint, and recruit Mark Trail to rent a car and drive them out to the country.

To Baldy, it seemed so simple at first: grab a ride, evade capture, get the hell outa Dodge. That was before hours spent struggling to stay awake in the over-warm SUV, crawling across the Black Hills moonscape five miles per hour under the posted limit, to the drone of Mark’s honeyed baritone and Blondie’s endless snoring. By now, Baldy’s plan had disintegrated into a waking fever-dream of disconnected fragments — unload the money, sure, or was it drugs? Put it in the camera bags, that was the ticket. But wait until you’re at the ranch, where the light’s better. Litter the car with lenses, filters, and mounts. Claim you’re part of a strange new crew who can’t operate the equipment, won’t open the bags, and keep their hands mysteriously out of sight. Pick up yet another hostage. Count on Mark to announce the cover story to rental clerks, bunkhouses full of old pals, service station attendants, anybody really. Rescue Billy, maybe — who was he again? Count the ferrets — sweet, endangered, mink-sized. But also solitary, nocturnal, constantly on the verge of extinction — how would he find them?

Mark turned the heat up a click and ran on, “… mustelid … habitat collapse … viviparous quadruped … sylvatic plague ….” Look, a deer has fallen asleep — how Baldy wished to join her! Careful, little prairie dogs, there may be predators about, vicious cousins of Asia’s steppe polecat — no one can possibly know how many! What was that thing they called polecats? And criminals like himself? Ah, yes … “varmints.” Good night, good night, sweet varmints everywhere.

Gil Thorp, 5/6/17

Ryan van Auken reaches out with his feelings, and Barry “Darth” Bader Force-catches a line drive. Two days late and a couple quatloos short, Milford.

Oh come on, of course I know that!

–Uncle Lumpy