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Gil Thorp, 1/23/10

“Help” = all-too-interested-in-high-school-athletes creepster janitor Steve Luhm, obviously, whose stint “helping” the girl’s basketball team will turn out to be even less appropriate than his efforts with the boys.

Family Circus, 1/23/10

This is an illustration of the empathy-free horrors that the Keane Kids have become as a result of their monstrous upbringing, and a good reason why the Keane Kompound must be bombed, from a great height, for the safety of all mankind.

Sally Forth, 1/23/10

Having gone behind Ted’s back to loan family money to her deadbeat sister, Sally knows that she has only one chance to deflect her husband’s anger: to finally cater to his fantasy of having sex with Han Solo. Will Han shoot first in this scenario?

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/23/10

Since Hootin’ Holler has long been neglected by the flatlander-dominated government and has never been serviced by any sort of municipal water supply, its impoverished rustic residents have only their own bodily fluids with which to bathe themselves.

Pluggers, 1/23/10

After a plugger dies of a massive coronary, the indelible dents his enormous ass left in the furniture make up the monument he leaves for his descendants to remember him by.

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Pluggers, 1/9/10

My wife has a theory that purse-snatchers should really focus their attention on men who have been forced by their significant other to hold onto said lady-friend’s purse for a few minutes, since they invariably treat it as if it were full of highly radioactive material, attempting to make as little physical contact with the purse as possible and holding it at arm’s length. Our gender-terrified plugger would make an easy mark for such a thief, as it looks as if he’d much rather lose some cash and spend and afternoon calling all his family’s various credit card companies than even briefly being mistaken for, I don’t know, a drag queen or something (OH AS IF HONEY).

Marmaduke, 1/9/10

I have always assumed that the thoughts running through Marmaduke’s head make up an unimaginable melange of nightmare and carnage that would drive any normal mind insane just to contemplate it for an instant; thus, I’m shocked that even Phil Hitler dares to ask the hell-beast’s opinion on matters sexual. Good luck with your rapid descent into madness, Phil!

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Oh my goodness, the site’s been all rearranged! More information about the redesign can be found on the Internet.

Curtis, 1/4/10

Oh, right, Kwanzaa! If there’s one thing that keeps me from viewing the purchase of a new calendar as just another step on the ever-descending spiral towards death, it’s the annual Curtis Kwanzaa fable of hallucinatory madness. I generally tear through the first half of the tale with joy when I return from my Christmas travels. Past adventures have included:

• The trials of six-fingered piano players
• Terrifying bat-winged bears
• Giant telepathic otters (still the gold standard, to my mind)
• Talking two-headed snakes
• Greedy maidens vomiting out various creepy-crawleys

This year’s story, involving nightmarish soul-stealing shadow-things, talking, styled animals, and all-knowing rhythm instruments, while whimsical and awesome when measured by other yardsticks, is thus rather pedestrian by when viewed in the Curtis Kwanzaa context. Still, today our hero appears to be passing through a magic mirror into the realm of the dead, so perhaps things might be looking up. I’d also like to point out that his sentient animal friends can speak and think like humans but, since they cannot enter the spirit realm, apparently do not have souls, which to my mind makes them by far the creepiest part of this whole drama so far.

Pluggers, 1/4/10

Speaking of monstrous, soulless beasts, let’s check in with Pluggers! Let’s see, yep, same old same old, pluggers are casting their minds back to a bygone age and … finding it … wanting? OH MY GOD EVERYTHING I KNOW IS WRONG! Is 2010 the year pluggers finally get with the times? What’s next? “Pluggers will suffer a witch to live”? MADNESS!

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/4/10

This strip would be funny (well, OK, not funny per se, but at least not so unsettling) if Ol’ Lukey were laffin’ it up with his fellow rustics in the second panel, rather than just sort of staring off into space looking befuddled and a little frightened. As it is, it appears that this elderly hillbilly is falling into corn likker-accelerated dementia, unable to remember where he’s going and why at any given moment. Soon he’ll be receiving Hootin’ Holler’s version of elder care (e.g., abandonment on a rocky hillside to be eaten by grizzlies).