Post Content

Mary Worth, 6/7/08

Oh, it’s “grassroots political activism,” is it? I think Mary is starting to realize that Ron’s silver hair and electric blue suit disguise an America-hating leftist. Their date will probably end with Ron hurling a brick through the window of the local Starbucks and spray-painting SMASH THE IMF across the front of the local bank.

I probably shouldn’t assume that the word “grassroots” only applies to one end of the political spectrum, though. It’s also possible that Ron is the head of the “Keep Santa Royale White” campaign — which, from the look of things, has been pretty darn successful so far.

Hi and Lois, 6/7/08

“It is, however, Afghanistan. That’s why my wife wasn’t able to talk directly to a man she isn’t related to, but needed to stay in the women’s quarters in the back of the house while I came out and told you to leave.”

Herb and Jamaal, 6/7/08

Man, as if I needed confirmation of my basic misanthropy, I now have as evidence the involuntary giggle that arose when Jamaal, having been isolated from interactions with his fellow humans by modern life, slipped in the earbuds and let the music from his iPod that popular MP3 music player that everyone’s talking about bring him to a state of emotionally neutral, heavy-lidded numbness.

Post Content

Apartment 3-G, 6/6/08

Reasons why Margo might have the Wedding March set as her phone’s ringtone:

• She’s read the The Secret and now believes she can make a marriage proposal happen by sheer force of will; thus, she surrounds herself with wedding-related media at all times.
• That ringtone indicates a phone call from her hapless assistant Sam, who’s been left in charge of her now largely forgotten wedding planning business. He’s probably calling for help about yet another peacock-related disaster.
• That ringtone’s been assigned to Eric, about whom Margo finally stopped caring about five minutes ago. He’s using his satellite phone to make his one phone call from the police station allowed by Chinese law before he has his organs harvested, but Margo’s decided to fall for Jack’s brushcut charms instead.

(By the way, that strip with Sam in it that I linked to above is more than a year old, and Margo is already boasting about her imminent engagement! So sad, so sad.)

Mary Worth, 6/6/08

“That’s right, Mary! Now that my mother’s literal dead weight is no longer holding me back, I’m someone of stature and consequence in this town! That woman in the hideously patterned shirt … that intellectual snob, out reading in public … why, I could have either of them thrown in jail, their lives destroyed, as easy I can clench my right fist, like so! I’ll be ordering you the house Chianti at La Rosa, but I won’t be drinking any; I’m already drunk with power!”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/6/08

“No way, man! You’ll pry my filthy, soiled wrestling mats from my cold, dead, MRSA-infected hands!”

Slylock Fox, 6/6/08

Cowboy one is out of his mind on mescaline; cowboy three is taking a “spirit journey” thanks to peyote; cowboys two and four are tweaking on good, old-fashioned meth.

Post Content

The Phantom, 6/4/08

So for the past few days, the Ghost-Who-Is-Pretty-Darn-Ripped and his wife have been strutting around in various states of undress on an abandoned oil platform somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, for no reason that you need to worry your pretty little heads about other than that it provides an opportunity for hot superhero-on-diplomat action. This has no doubt been delightful to faithful reader Bootsy, who can’t get enough of that stripey, stripey ass. Today’s strip is particularly hilarious in the stripey ass department, as we see that the Phantom sleeps in his stripey briefs and purple tights, though he lets his manly, muscled (and, if the final panel is any indication, nippleless) torso breathe.

Mary Worth, 6/4/08

About a year ago, I was forced to contemplate a question: Is there anything more vile than watching Vera and Dr. Drew have phone sex on bland and hideously colored sheets? At the time, I said “no”, obviously, but I now know that watching Mary and Ron have phone sex on bright and hideously colored upholstery is worse. KEEP THOSE HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM, YOU TWO.

Crankshaft, 6/4/08

By the look of glum despair on the balding green-shirted dude’s face, I’m guessing that this isn’t the first Crankshaft trademarked misanthropic witticism he’s had to endure during his 40+ minute wait in the security line.

Apartment 3-G, 6/4/08

Oh, Alan! That’s not “petty cash,” that’s Margo’s coke fund. She likes the powdered stuff, because unlike you she is classy, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be assaulting you like a crazed basehead when she realizes what you’ve done.