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Mary Worth, 10/11/18

So it looks like Mary’s going to go with the “Tee hee, I need a big strong man to make sure I’m not ripped off by those ruffians down at the auto repair shop” gambit to try to lure Saul out of his Sadness Condo. Charmingly patriarchal as I find Mr. Wynter’s snarled “What happened to your boyfriend?”, we all know what happened to Mary’s boyfriend: (a) this is all a ploy so he’s not even involved, (b) he has an actual job, unlike these two retiree layabouts, and (c) he’s extremely nervous and would probably react to any hard sell from the mechanics by saying “He’s right, Mary! A car without a thorough undercoating is unsafe!”

Crankshaft, 10/11/18

There’s this whole depressing long-simmering storyline that Crankshaft has revisited over the years about how Lilian thwarted her sister Lucy’s love life when they were young out of jealousy, which I can never keep the details straight because I find it tedious, and also I think Lucy died within the last ten years of real-life time or so in some tragic way … was it Alzheimer’s? I’m gonna say Alzheimer’s. Anyway, the fella who was the object of both sisters’ desire in their youth is this behattèd gentl here, who’s come to this class reunion to offer absolution, I guess, and also offer career advise: Lilian should write a book about her tragically dead sister! Sure, she’s written exactly one book, a cozy murder mystery, and cozy murder mysteries are a solidly commercial genre that you can be real successful in if you find your niche, and she landed her agent on the strength of that manuscript, but why not suddenly shift gears and write a memoir? Remember, this is the Funkyverse, where the only valid literary form is the Tragic Memoir About A Loved One Who Died.

Funky Winkerbean, 10/11/18

Speaking of the Funkyverse, Funky had planned to “run through the tape here at Montoni’s,” which I take to mean that he intended to keep working there until he died, presumably of a rage-stroke while he screamed at some tomato sauce supplier over the phone, but now he’s going to abruptly hand the job over to his nephew and peace out. Does he have any retirement savings to fall back on, or has he finally realized that dying in poverty is preferable to smelling burnt pepperoni and sadness every day for the rest of his life?

Crock, 10/11/18

This comic doesn’t make any sense because it’s established Crock canon that Maggot and Grossie live in a tent. I hate that I know this.

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 10/9/18

“Haw, haw! Guess I’m just a simple orphan being raised by my aunt an’ uncle, who resent my presence and are likely to snap into a rage if I intrude into their routine in any way!”

Dennis the Menace, 10/9/18

Dennis is about to explain podcasts to Mr. Wilson, and pretty soon Mr. Wilson is not going to be able to shut up about Serial, much to the annoyance of everyone around him. This is Dennis’s most subtly effective menace yet.

Mary Worth, 10/9/18

“Should I give him a project to distract him by driving my car through the wall of Charterstone and into his living room, destroying the vehicle in the process? No, that would be foolish. I’ll drive Jeff’s car into Mr. Wynter’s living room.”

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Pluggers, 10/6/18

A good example of the stranglehold Baby Boomers have had on American self-image comes from the weird version of real-life Comic Book Time that defines the life history of people in syndicated newspaper comics: young-to-early-middle-aged adults who still have kids at home somehow went to Woodstock or enjoyed disco fever at its peak, despite the fact that real-life humans who fit that demographic were busy being born during those cultural moments. That’s why I have to give grudging admiration to today’s Pluggers, because however you define a plugger, you have to admit that they’re old. You’re old, Boomers! It’ll happen to me someday — some might argue that it’s already in the process of happening — but I just want to hear you admit it, and I will take this syndicated Pluggers panel as a confession.

Mary Worth, 10/6/18

Ahhhhh, it’s a strange little old man slowly loping down a condo complex hallway, past discount art purchased in bulk at Pier One, grouchily refusing Mary’s plea to engage in some emotional processing. Has a more perfect Mary Worth ever been created?