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Beetle Bailey, 10/2/24

Hello, faithful readers! You might recall that last week I opined that Beetle Bailey had abandoned the spirit, though not the letter, of Miss Buxley Wednesday by producing technically Buxley-inclusive content that nobody could possibly be aroused by. Well, it seems that the bigwigs at Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC have listened to my reasoned critique and delivered two panels of Miss Buxley in all her miniskirted glory. Sure, she’s as crudely drawn as ever, but she’s waving her arms around frantically and yelling right next to a laser printer that’s going crazy and spewing out paper, and I’m reasonably sure that a sizable minority of you could talk yourselves into getting off to that, if you really put in the work.

Pluggers, 10/2/24

I had always assumed that actual short-order cooks are plugger short-order cooks? I mean, I guess I haven’t been keeping tabs on the hierarchies, but do you mean to tell me that this underpaid, manually demanding profession is coastal elitist-coded now? That real pluggers are at home seething with class resentment at short-order cooks because they use fancy stoves to cook? By god, pluggers just eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and they like it! They don’t even toast the bread! Do you toast the bread, like some kind of communist? I’d blame Hulu’s hit show The Bear for this change in attitude, as it shows short-order cooks having aspirations beyond their station, but (a) no plugger subscribes to a “streaming service” and (b) if they did, as horrible man-animal chimeras, their primary reaction to the show would be confusion that nobody on it is actually a bear.

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Pluggers, 9/23/24

An oft-noted source of malaise in American life is a rise of loneliness, as “third spaces” — places where people socialize that aren’t home or work — decline, and more and more people spend all their time with immediate family, coworkers — or, as they age, themselves. My new crackpot theory is that this explains why individual Plugger entries have gotten increasingly weird and idiosyncratic over the years that I’ve read the strip. They used to be the sort of corny and relatable content that emerged from consensus as you and your buddies griped or joked about life’s little foibles at the bar or on the job site. But now? Now that you took your pension and your wife has died and the VFW hall has closed, now that mostly you just sit on the couch with the TV turned on way too loud, so you can hear it and also can’t really think, which is maybe the whole point? Well, now who knows what your old pals who you exchange occasional texts with do. Do they mute the TV before they reply to your text? Probably, right? You do it, so it stands to reason that they do too. Maybe that’s why they haven’t replied to your text yet. Maybe they’re just waiting for their show to end so they can focus some attention on it. That’s probably it.

Gasoline Alley, 9/23/24

In addition to being obviously annoying, Rufus and Joel are also uncanny, in the sense that they alone among the cast stay the same age even as everyone ages around them. Are they truly human at all, or are they strange visitors from the fae realms? Well, today’s strip at least establishes that Rufus was in fact pushed down a human birth canal, which may be more information than any of us ever wanted, but now we have it.

Shoe, 9/23/24

I love the fact that the Perfesser’s eyes are closed here. He’s not just daydreaming about these culinary delights: he appears to be deep in the act of prayer, as if he’s trying to manifest them. This probably hurts Roz’s feelings, as she runs the restaurant where he’s currently sitting and from which he could presumably simply order them.

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Luann, 9/6/24

I won’t trouble you with the months-long “Brad and Toni consider having a child, then reconsider after caring for Toni’s niece Shannon” narrative. But it firmly established two principles of marital sex (ugh, “romance”) in Luann: 1) Sex is permitted for procreation only, and 2) the presence of a child in the home absolutely precludes any sex. That’s why Brad looks so giddy in the last panel: he knows he’ll have sex with his wife exactly once in the next eighteen years, so he figures it must be really great.

9 Chickweed Lane, 9/6/24

These people, on the other hand, are having sex all the time, on pianos, under restaurant booths, in showers, and most of all in lakes. All, with the merciful exception of Lolly there, who is underage and just talks about sex all the time while her swain Alistair mumbles and hiccups erotically in reply. Hugh may be a foul-mouthed brute, but he’s an articulate foul-mouthed brute.

Pluggers, 9/6/24

Married pluggers acknowledge and respect their spouses’ separate interests, and remain affectionate with no need to climb all over each other all the time. Pluggers are well-adjusted!

Crankshaft, 9/6/24

Apparently the Burnings referenced in the final days of Funky Winkerbean started when Les Moore bought copies of the banned Fahrenheit 451 for “Booksmellers” to give away to his students. Pretty on-brand that the insufferable Les triggered a civilization-ending apocalypse! Pretty efficient of a censor-arsonist to target bookstores: “Eh, choosing’s hard; I’ll just burn all the books!” And pretty surprising that Lillian’s walkup firetrap survived the blazes.

Or is it? We know Lillian is a spiteful harridan who ruined sister Lucy’s love life out of petty envy, and left her to die alone in hospice care. Is it really beyond her to torch competitors, the bastards, so she can maybe sell a few damn books once in a while? Don’t dig too deep, Skip Townes, you may not like what you find!

Why hello there, faithful reader! I’m subbing for Josh through Sunday the 22^nd, with a sampling of the Comics Even Josh Won’t Read Because He Doesn’t Have To, as well as plenty of old familiars. If you run into any issues with the site or subscriber emails contact me at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net and I’ll do what I can to help. Enjoy!

—Uncle Lumpy