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Hagar the Horrible, 10/30/15

Thank goodness that we, as a society, have advanced to the point where the The Horribles’ healthy, active sex life can be openly discussed in the newspaper.

Pluggers, 10/30/15

In the end, it wasn’t concern for their own well-being or the terrible toll on their families and friendships that got pluggers to take a hard look at their dependence on alcohol; it was their own physical infirmity.

Gasoline Alley, 10/30/15

THE DEAD ARE RISING

THE DEAD ARE RISING FROM THE GRAVE

THE RAPTURE IS HERE AND THE COMICS ARE FIRST

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Apartment 3-G, 10/24/15

The sad fate of Apartment 3-G is apparently not quite official enough for Wikipedia, but Mark Trail artist James Allen, prompted by my post, got in touch with King Features and got confirmation that the strip is on its way out. This is obviously really depressing to me, but I’m going to try to keep it together and give the strip the best send-off I can, which is to say I’ll mock it with affection till it’s in the grave. At least we’re finally going to get the resolution to the one storyline that’s nagged at us for years: the will-they-or-won’t-they romance between Margo’s parents, who are presumably going to get married in the hospital chapel while a comatose Margo’s respirator whirrs in the background. “I haven’t been a great husband, Gabby,” says the man who was married to someone else when he knocked Gabby up, then forced that woman to raise Margo as her own, then had her bundled away to a private “psychiatric facility” upstate. Oh, hey, remember how said wife referred to Martin as “my husband” during the plotline where she came back and tried to kill him? What if they never formally got divorced? What if this turns into a real Jane Eyre-type situation, with “upstate” just a code for “this hospital where Margo is now, which is probably north of the park or something?” That would be an amazing send-off, honestly, if a crazed Bobbie Merrill were to burn the place down in a fit of madness and kill every last character.

Beetle Bailey, 10/24/15

General Halftrack’s expression of genuine despair, as he pleads with his clergyman to explain why he feels so spiritually adrift, why he’s unable to feel the presence of his Creator, is so vivid and poignant that I felt actively angry about Chaplain Stainglass’s flippant answer. I consoled myself by imagining that he was in fact being very literal. “Ah, yes, it’s possible that you’ve been calling … the wrong number … if you get my drift” [winks] [passes General Halftrack a piece of paper with “WORSHIP LORD MOLOCH” written on it]

Pluggers, 10/24/15

Look, guys, pluggers just have to go to the bathroom a lot, OK? They don’t enjoy getting occasional whiffs of urine or feces while they’re dining. That’s just a rumor, just a disgusting rumor, and they’re tired of you spreading it around.

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Apartment 3-G, 10/9/15

Oh man, kind of a bummer that Margo’s mom’s psychic Latina (?) powers worked to save her daughter’s dumb roommate but not her daughter! Though maybe that’s because, as you can tell by comparing that strip from 2007 to this one, Margo’s mother has been replaced by someone else entirely.

Funky Winkerbean, 10/9/15

Gotta assume that Mason is towards the depressive end of his bipolar cycle, and was just overcome with exhaustion and ennui such that he had to pause for a few seconds between the syllables “bipolar” to gather his energy. Because otherwise Cindy would’ve just blurted something out in mid-word, and that doesn’t make any sense at all!

Pluggers, 10/9/15

Pluggers don’t just give companies money in exchange for goods or services; they construct an identity by conspicuously displaying loyalty to their favorite brands. Pluggers, so silly, amiright? (Haha, just kidding, we all construct our identities out of our relationships with corporate entities to one degree or another. The matrix of capitalism is inescapable!)

Hi and Lois, 10/9/15

Haha, fellas, turns out if you want to have a romantic relationship with someone you have to do things that interest them! Women, whaddyagonnado?

Heathcliff, 10/9/15

As that coin hit the water deep in the wishing well, all across the world, all at once, the innumerable cloacae of innumerable birds squeezed shut forever. A few hours later, the birds began to explode in bursts of guts and feces and feathers — at first just one here and there, then more and more frequently, until everyone on the planet was deafened by the awful, repulsive noise.