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Hagar the Horrible, 3/23/16

When Christianity came to Scandinavia, it started at the top, with kings converting to better connect them to royalty in the rest of Europe, and then nobility to curry favor with the kings. Here we see a rather late stage in the process: the minor local barons who still lead the raids across the North Sea are Christians, at least nominally enough to start using a new vocabulary. But the ordinary men who they hope to lead into battle still yearn for entrance into Valhalla, the warrior’s afterlife. The thought that now they have to make themselves right with the pacifist son of the God of the southerners rightly throws them into turmoil, and at just the wrong time, too.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/23/16

I think it’s worth remembering, in between all the antics, how (intentionally? I think?) depressing this “Milton is sliding into dementia!” storyline is! Remember when Milton was a huge dick to everyone and it was because he was terrified of losing his mind? Remember when Heather said “I am not unhappy! And you don’t have Alzheimer’s Disease until Rex says you do!” WELP, check out her facial expression in panel two here! Enh, don’t worry too much, Heather, dementia isn’t why your husband can’t remember your best friend’s name; he was just given a list of professions in order of status when he arrived at Eton, and “nurse” is way below the “you need to remember their names” line. (“Nanny” is too, but there’s a well understood “you’ve had sex with them at least three times” exception.)

Dennis the Menace, 3/23/16

This is a weirdly formal setting for Dennis to deliver one of his trademark reminders of why you should never say anything bad about anyone when he’s in earshot. With his parents standing meekly to one side while Dennis squares off directly with this captain of industry, it looks as if Henry has dragged his son to the office to demand a raise because he’s too afraid to do so himself. Or maybe the boss has demanded to see this menacing child that Henry always talks about in hushed, terrified tones? “You’ve got moxie, kid, I’ll give you that. Let’s start you in sales, with a base salary of, say, 15% more than what I give your pathetic wimp of a father?”

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Shoe, 3/22/16

I’m not a fan of either playing or watching golf, but after reading this article, I’ve always been fascinated by the fact that what most people think of the particular artificial landscape created for golf courses is actually an attempt to reproduce the natural environment of coastal Scotland where the game was invented in the 1400s. You can see another strange echo of the now worldwide game’s connection to a particular place in today’s Shoe, in which a bird-woman is wearing a tam o’shanter. This is, I suppose, to provide a setup for the feint that produces the strip’s punchline. Did she purchase this faintly absurd hat, which Americans probably primarily think of as a goofy thing you wear ironically while playing golf, as a part of her decision to try to share her husband’s passion for the game? No. Her marriage is a nightmare nest of suspicions and deceit, but the hat is unrelated to any of that, and we’ll probably never know why she’s wearing it. Its inherent whimsy now merely serves as a sad counterpoint to the bird-woman’s depressing home life.

Dennis the Menace, 3/22/16

To maintain some poor soul in a rapidly decaying flesh-prison, to create a ghastly living portrait of Dorian Gray, in order to grant yourself an ageless existence as a sinister, eternal child — I would be hard pressed to imagine something more menacing than that. “Please, you’ve got to believe me!” Mr. Wilson gasps, smelling the stench of decay arising from his own flesh. “I’ve been bewitched by his foul magic! I’m only 35 years old!”

Plugger, 3/22/16

You’re a plugger if the only thing in your sad, plodding existence that can inspire you to muster up any sense of occasion or formality is when someone dies.

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Slylock Fox, 3/21/16

Ha, Slylock, this is pretty much the lamest anti-drug campaign I’ve ever seen. “No!” he shouts at the glassy-eyed hordes, eager to hand fists full of money over to Wanda. “Don’t you understand? She isn’t using honey at all!” The animals stumble back to their homes, or just lie down on the grass, chemically fueled happiness shooting through their veins. Slylock runs from prone form to prone form. “Honey is created by bees in hives! At best, she’s using honey that bees created after gathering nectar from lily and cactus flowers. At best!” Nobody listens. Nobody hears. They’re thinking happy thoughts! Nothing but happy thoughts! Your honey talk isn’t happy, Slylock, and they can’t even hear it.

Gasoline Alley, 3/21/16

Good news! Gasoline Alley’s Mildly Irritating Appliance Salesman Guy, who you might remember from strips like these, is back! And he’s a … police officer? Sure, why not! I don’t really understand why Gasoline Alley thinks Frank Nelson’s character from Jack Benny’s 1940’s radio show is someone that modern people yearn to see in cartoon form, but you could argue that if The Simpsons did it, it can’t be the worst idea in the world. You could also argue that this is a comic strip that just wrapped a multi-month story arc about scrapbooking, so clearly nobody involved gives a shit about what you or I or anyone else thinks!

Crock, 3/21/16

Since Crock is nominally set in early 20th century French colonial North Africa, if I had to identify the religion held by most of its characters, I’d have said “indifferent Catholics.” But clearly, in its decades wandering the desert, the Lost Patrol has fallen into some odd polytheism.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/21/15

“Your body is strong and robust and will go on living for years as your brain turns to goo and you lose every shred of the memories and personality that makes you you! This will only be a problem for your loved ones and people who talk to you, though, and I’m gonna stop talking to you right … about … now.”