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Mary Worth, 6/6/17

I was going to make some snide comment about how mariachi music is from Jalisco, on Mexico’s Pacific coast, and totally out of place here in the Yucatan, but heck, you can hire a mariachi band for your wedding in Tulum! You can hire a jug band in Staten Island! Cultures are becoming more and more homogenous as people become more mobile, and as global elite tourism demands to be catered to by specific forms of cultural output! Mary and Toby had better get deeply margarita-drunk while wearing sombreros by the end of this storyline, is what I’m trying to say. Meanwhile, it’s sad that Haiti’s rich cultural heritage has was ignored last month in favor of their unfortunate history of accidental bathroom imprisonment.

Beetle Bailey, 6/6/17

What with the end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, the idea that two men in the military might be involved in a secret S&M relationship no longer holds a transgressive thrill. That’s why Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Industries LLC has moved on to “jell-offing,” a sexual fetish where someone can only achieve orgasm if his or her genitals are nestled in a slowly curdling blob of delicious JELL-O® brand pudding.

Blondie, 6/6/17

It’s pretty sad that Blondie had to hire top-notch Web designers and food photographers to create an elaborate website like this for her catering business. Taking photos of each and every single dish she offers definitely has diminishing returns as advertising, but I guess it makes her feel better to know that, if Dagwood’s going to spend his time at work masturbating to food pornography, at least he’s masturbating to her food pornography.

Crock, 6/6/17

It’s kind of odd that Otis, who is one of the more frequently used members of Crock’s cast of characters, has been reduced to a tiny, glowering, wordless gnome-thing in this strip. But I guess it’s also odd that he had “Show and Tell” at school and didn’t bring in his best friend, a talking bird who feasts on the rotting flesh of the dead.

Shoe, 6/6/17

nggnnngghghggngn

THERE IS NO HALL

YOU’RE IN A SINGLE ROOM INSIDE A TREE TRUNK

WHY DON’T YOU SAY “DOWN THE BRANCH” OR SOMETHING

JUST ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THEY’RE BIRDS LIVING FULL-TIME IN TREES FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE

GOD DAMN IT

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Blondie, 6/5/17

Hi there, I’m a guy who reads and writes about the comics every day and yet I’m genuinely baffled about what the “joke” is in today’s Blondie! Is it about how Dagwood’s shoes are large and clownish? (Does the Blondie artistic team even recognize how large and clownish Dagwood’s shoes are anymore?) Or is it just that, ha ha, joining the circus sure is an inappropriately whimsical fantasy for an adult to have! Anyway, joke’s on you, buddy: nobody wants to see the circus anymore, either.

Beetle Bailey, 6/5/17

Wow, Sarge looks genuinely sad in panel two, full of regrets about the vicious beatings his delivers on the daily to his hapless subordinate. Not sad enough to do anything about it, of course — the world doesn’t change so easily. But the thrill is clearly gone.

Pluggers, 6/5/17

Ha ha, pluggers’ cars are just straight-up full of garbage! Just like their kitchen cabinets, and the rest of their homes! I’m starting to worry about pluggers, guys.

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Crankshaft, 6/4/17

Earlier this week we got treated to yet another hint that Crankshaft is trapped in temporal amber, always on the verge of death but never quite getting there. That’s really something for comics obsessives like me and the readers of this blog to contemplate, though. Today’s strip gets back to the simple, core message the Funkyverse has for casual readers turning to the funny pages for a wistful smile and a little escapism: all of us are going to die, and some of us sooner than others.

Panel from Slylock Fox, 6/4/17

Solution — Count Weirdly still has a pre-animalpocalypse mindset. He clings to the old ways, where there was a hierarchy of species, with his own, of course, on top. “Max?” he thinks, typing various combinations into the password field with no effect. “Is Max his pet?” Sly and Max smile at him with mingled pity and contempt. This is the new age. The standings of various species have been dramatically leveled, and Slylock chose that outdated password hint to remind him of the social order he now serves. His password is “NO GODS NO MASTERS”.

Panel from The Family Circus, 6/4/17

“There, I just summarized the whole long boring sermon for you! Now let’s go to the dog track. Don’t tell your parents.”

Mother Goose and Grimm, 6/4/17

Well, let’s just see what these adorable bunnies are up to in this whimsical comic strip and AAAUGH AAUGH AAAUGH THEY’VE AMPUTATED THEIR OWN LEGS IN ORDER TO IMPROVE THEIR FORTUNE AND NOW THEY’RE HAVING REGRETS ABOUT IT, WHAT HELL-NIGHTMARE IS THIS