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Funky Winkerbean, 9/4/14

Most unwelcome guests just make you feel old.

But when Les Moore’s wife Lisa died in 2007 and once before, Funky Winkerbean jumped forward in time and its spinoff Crankshaft didn’t. The charming though confusing result is that whenever a Crankshaft character encounters somebody from the Funky continuity, they age about fifteen years.

So here we have Old Pam, daughter of Really Old Ed, and her husband Old Jeff, son of Probably Dead Rose. I say Probably Dead because that appears to be a genuine smile on Jeff’s face in panels two and three, and Rose strictly enforced her rules against that sort of thing.

As for the third panel hey, doesn’t anybody say “you’re welcome” anymore? Old Jeff is grateful for Holly’s gift — why does Holly imagine that’s worrisome for him? Not long ago, Old Jeff’s daughter Grown Up Mindy gave Holly a comic, to her joy and satisfaction — why does she think Old Jeff would react differently? Maybe she’s releasing him from an obligation to reciprocate, to break the cycle of comics-transfer before it escalates into some insane suburban potlatch with skidloads of mouldering comics trucked endlessly between Westview and Centerville to lie rotting on porches? Or is it out of simple mercy to Funky Winkerbean readers who just can’t imagine grownups making such a godawful fuss about comic books?

Comic strips, on the other hand ….

Beetle Bailey, 9/4/14

I’ve been reading Beetle Bailey a long, long time, and I can’t remember Otto ever appearing, being treated, as or acting like a real dog — to the extent that at first glance I thought he was ogling the woman in the first panel. Even the artist has a hard time accepting Otto’s dog-nature: sure, the front limbs end pawishly, but the backs end in feet, making it look like he’s running on his toes.

Maybe its just a subtle send-up of socially-constructed gender roles, such as we are used to finding in the pages of Beetle Bailey: all poodles are girls, of course, as are all ballet dancers who perform en pointe. So what appears to be gender-normative attraction is in fact ambiguous or transgressive! Who’s on the leash here?! The patriarchy!

Mary Worth, 9/4/14

Mary surrenders to control by her abdominal ganglia, much like a dinosaur or cockroach.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Gil Thorp, 9/3/14

Captain of Industry Art Standish lays down the law to a public employee over whom he has no power, and who can inconvenience him mightily with no effort or risk of repercussions. I bet ol’ Art just cracks ’em up down at the DMV: “What’s that, sir? Oh, you pay my salary? Hey, Denise, we got a VIP with us this morning — this gentleman taxpayer here pays my salary! Well sir, why don’t you just stop paying those taxes — I bet that’ll fix me good won’t it?”

Curtis, 9/3/14

An alternate-dimension Curtis arrives to teach Our Curtis a Valuable Lesson, misuse the word “identical”, and start an argument about who is argumentative. Don’t worry, Our Curtis — evidence suggests that you are indeed the “smart” Curtis, although frankly this speaks poorly of dimensions everywhere.

Mary Worth, 9/3/14

Mary advises acting on only your most powerful delusions. Isn’t that pretty much how delusions work?

Judge Parker, 9/3/14

Speaking of delusions, this is Neddy’s business plan! Hey kid, your landlord doesn’t need to see it unless you want to use the space rent-free, in which case you are looking for money.

And isn’t Bebe already a thing that exists?

Josh and Amber rolled into Los Angeles on Tuesday evening, to stay with family overnight and start moving into their new home today. I’m on the clock for a little while longer to give Josh time to find his computer, connect to the Internet, and catch up on all the action in Apartment 3-G.

And so ends the Westward Bound! Comics Curmudgeon fundraiser. Every contributor will be receiving a personal thank-you from Josh, but I’d like to add my own: thanks, you guys are the best!

— Uncle Lumpy

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Apartment 3-G, 9/1/14 (panel)

They’re going to either burst into a Rocky Ledge duet or dash for the bedroom, and I don’t know which would be worse.

Slylock Fox, 9/1/14

I’m always fascinated by Weirdly’s gadgets, minor taxonomy-related errors aside. But I was transfixed by Slylock’s scuba outfit, encasing his luxuriant red tail in yards of pillowy blue neoprene. At first it looked like a clever canid-specific buoyancy compensator, maintaining both depth and balance — probably fart-powered to conserve breathing air and protect the delicate reef ecology. Then I saw Max’s predicament, and realized that Sly’s tailsheath is essential defense against the carnivorous goldfish, which consumes its victim tail-first, inch by inch, until after long months of agony the nose disappears into its toothy maw like the final cherry of an after-dinner flambé. Red in tooth and claw, folks — dive safe, and keep those tails covered!

Mary Worth, 9/1/14

Mary is driven insane about the way l’affaire Kaphut was resolved without her interference so no credit is coming her way and she had to go crawling to that smug punk son of her jellyfish boyfriend just to find out what the hell happened. Like she’s no better than some damn nurse! In her rage she lets her defenses slip and reverts to the hair, posture, expression, and sing-songy speech cadences of an Evil Queen in a Disney movie (probably Ursula from The Little Mermaid, but maybe Cruella from 101 Dalmations, your choice):

♫ “You seeeeeeeeem to have very ACurate gutinnnnnnnnstincts (cackle cackle cackle)!” ♫
♫ “You KNOW what was reeeeeecently reVEALED about himmmmmmm? hmmmmmmm? (cackle shriek cackle, whiff of sulfur, bright flash)”

Van Horn Texas — home to Jeff Bezos’ Blue Image spaceport and the 10,000-year clock buried in the surrounding hills. Come for the diesel-fried chicken and donkey-ropin’; leave for Tucson in the morning. Send burrito money, folks — he’s a long, long way from home and a burrito could be a good friend right now.

— Uncle Lumpy