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Blondie, 9/9/23

Are you guys still playing Wordle? I am, and sorry if that isn’t cool anymore, I guess I just like having fun, but the reason I’m aware that it isn’t cool anymore (to the extent that it ever was) is because I know the game went viral in late 2021, which was more than a year and a half ago, which make it definitely not “new,” but I’m just an ordinary human man and not an ageless eternal character in a comic strip that’s been running since 1930, so the way I experience time is much, much different, I suppose. Anyway, do you think either of these guys, or any member of the Blondie brain trust, knows that there’s only one Wordle game per day, or that it’s available on more than one person’s phone?

Gil Thorp, 9/9/23

Look, I’ve generally been supportive of Henry Barajas’s moves to update this strip, but I draw the line at adding a mutant X-Man who’s impervious to heat to the Valley Tech roster.

Six Chix, 9/9/23

Did you know that Little Free Library®, a thing that I assumed had been born from an ethos of radical sharing and openness, is actually a registered trademark? I myself did not! Also, did you know that your local Little Free Library® is a good place to go pick up women? I’m really learning a lot today.

Dennis the Menace, 9/9/23

“You know what would really help with that? A car seat! But my parents don’t care about the law, or whether we live or die.”

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Six Chix, 9/6/23

One of the sad paradoxes of aging is that pets can be a great source of comfort and happiness for older people, but many rightfully worry about what will happen if their beloved animals outlive them. But what if your soul in the next world could reach out to the living to ensure that your pets were cared for? “FEED. THE. CAT.” your dead voice would echo, coming from everywhere and nowhere, burning in the brains of your family or just anyone who happened to be within a few miles of your home. They plug their ears but can still hear the command thrumming, having crossed unfathomable space and time to arrive on earth. “FEED. HIM. FEED. HIM. FEED HIM.” The cat himself daintily licks his paws, seemingly unaware of the commotion but also extremely confident that he’ll be fed on time.

Mary Worth, 9/6/23

“Whoa there, Drunky McNewlywed, my taupe globules pair best with room temperature tap water, capisce? You can start getting lit when you’re already on your way out the door and I won’t have to deal with your drunken antics. I’ve been burned before!”

Blondie, 9/6/23

Elmo, a good alibi is when you establish that you couldn’t have committed a crime because you were somewhere else at the time. This is just you saying “Oh, I didn’t do that thing I was supposed to do, because I was doing something else.” Honestly, I’d go so far as to say that this not only isn’t a good alibi, but it isn’t an alibi at all.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/30/23

I guess Mud Mountain Murphy’s apology tour has now become Mud Mountain Murphy’s relentless attempt to extract forgiveness from Truck, which isn’t exactly in the spirit of humility and self-abnegation that Professor Mirakle preached, I don’t think. Mud has apparently decided to check in at the Glenwood Hotel, which is where Truck sheltered in place after contracting some kind of not-COVID respiratory virus in the spring of 2020. It’s a real shithole, which is why it was the perfectly depressing setting for a roots country tune that went unpredictably viral, which ironically means that, despite being in better financial straits, Truck feels honor-bound to just live there permanently now. Anyway, I can’t remember if the owner was originally one Glenwood’s surprisingly large contingent of roots country maniacs before all this happened; I’d like to imagine that he was more a classic rock guy, or maybe into Motown, but was compelled to get way into the roots country scene after his establishment got RootsTok famous, which would explain both his pompadour/sideburns lewk and his clear knowledge of the Mud-Truck feud’s current status.

Six Chix, 8/30/23

I love that this dog is derisively telling his owner to “tell it to the postman, dude.” The Postal Service is of course the mortal enemy of the canine race, and a dog can imagine no better way to degrade you than to suggest that you voluntarily interact with one of its employees.