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Family Circus, 10/20/16

“Ida Know” says Jeffy, swigging PBR from his juice box. “Not me,” thinks Barfy, the only one with a remotely plausible beard. “Look at me acting all baby and stuff,” beams PJ ironically in his flannel onesie.

Sally Forth, 10/20/16

While we were off watching Judge Parker, the Forths dramatically upgraded their foreplay.

Judge Parker, 10/20/16

Sure, the Chubbs can be bought — but they won’t stay bought.

Pluggers, 10/20/16

“Oops — sorry, Spider-Man!”

— Uncle Lumpy

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Luann, 10/19/16

Folks, I have a confession to make. Yesterday’s Luann was transcendently, skin-crawlingly awful. It was my solemn obligation as Substitute Comic Blogger to post and mock it here, yet I did not. An abundance of pity for the firehouse crew — powerless, disposable fourth-tier fictional characters — stayed my hand. It was a dereliction of duty, it was wrong, and I sincerely apologize.

Anyway, Captain Natty has bullied his crew into hosting a theme engagement party in which the food and entertainment rhyme with a clumsy portmanteau of the couple’s names (“Broni” — for some reason they’re not going with the obvious “Tonad”). The sandwiches, pizza, ice cream, and music on offer have therefore been respelled as baloney, pepperoni, spumoni, and Tony and Joni. Get it? If not, there’s a big-ass sign on the wall — always the sign of a great joke — to help you out.

But I’m wondering why Squinty McRictus there identifies himself as Toni’s “bro-in-law.” I suppose it could be a riff on that “firefighting is a brotherhood” claptrap they trot out in the recruiting brochures. But Toni’s a firefighter herself, so why say “in-law”? I prefer to think that little Shannon’s Dad Jonah isn’t really Toni’s brother but her ex-husband, that Squinty is Jonah’s brother in fact and thus Toni’s in law, and that Brad is in for a much bigger surprise than this dumb party.

Six Chix, 10/19/16

Really surprised these Tantric Sex Couches aren’t flying off the showroom floor.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 10/19/16

Today, Snuffy shows us that the self-perpetuating cycle of misery and crime that grips Hootin’ Holler can be broken, but fails to show us how he became happy enough to escape it. Did he find consolation in Parson Tuttle’s grifter’s Gospel? Did Sheriff Tait finally convince him to go straight? Did he fleece a Barlow at poker? Most likely he picked up his refill from Doc Pritchart and got high as a kite.

– Uncle Lumpy

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Hi and Lois, 10/18/16

Lois, if you’re going to raise expectations like that, shouldn’t you make some minimal effort to meet them?

Funky Winkerbean, 10/18/16

Football penalty flags are yellow. The official isn’t ejecting Bull, he’s giving up.

Mary Worth, 10/18/16

Mary suggested Iris should maybe spend a little more time with Tommy. Now she has to settle for a mere week of congratulations, because they squandered the Peace Prize on that Santos dude.

SO UNFAIR.

Heathcliff, 10/18/16

Evolution moves fast chez Heathcliff.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/18/16

I guess it must be far enough down the line for Michelle and Jordan Like the Country to resume flirting. ‘Cause that’s some straight-up banter right there.

Ballard Street, 10/18/16

Too late, by decades.

Mark Trail, 10/18/16

“Cannot … suppress … Nature facts!”

– Uncle Lumpy