Post Content

Beetle Bailey, 7/24/14

Soldiers are entitled to “… confidential, non-medical problem-solving counseling … provided by licensed, certified counselors on demand. Up to twelve (12) counseling sessions may be provided for each issue, at no cost to the Soldier or Family member.”

I suppose Dr. Bonkus can bill Amos and Martha Halftrack because they’ve needed hundreds of hours of counseling to fan this spark of romance from the ashes of their loveless union? Or maybe Bonkus bills them off-books for the use of his office because this is the only place they can get it on?

Alternatively: old-people sex, ew.

Funky Winkerbean, 7/24/14

After months of searching, Holly has at last located Starbuck Jones #115. The find was faked, of course – Comic John bought the comic in San Diego and had his pal plant it where Holly would find it, just as people have patronized and condescended to her at every step of her little odyssey.

No matter, though — Holly has found a way to bond with her son Cory by completing his collection while he serves in Afghanistan, drawing his cherished project to a close.

And this being Funky Winkerbean, somewhere in the hills of the Panjiwayi District, a sniper adjusts his windage. Somebody is going to get an authentic experience out of all this.

Pluggers, 7/24/14

In fairness, though, that’s when the washer starts.

Luann, 7/24/14

In its 30th year, Luann has finally taken the plunge and graduated its cast from high school. Insufferable do-gooder Delta is off to Howard University; second-string ethnic paragon Rosa Aragones spurned Yale for a job mucking out bedpans at her uncle’s clinic in “Peru” with dweeb Gunther in tow; and Bernice, Tiffany, and Quill will attend local “Moony Uni.” So, now, too will Luann herself, on the basis of a previously unseen gift for spatial reasoning, which fortunately requires no knowledge or effort to apply.

Our Moral: don’t waste your time learning and doing stuff — just wait for somebody to reward you for qualities you already possess. Our Motto: Inertia!

9 Chickweed Lane, 7/24/14

What, no chance for a Quigley here?

— Uncle Lumpy

Post Content

Mary Worth, 7/23/14

That’s it, Olive! Hide in the pool! They won’t think to look there what with your abject terror of water and stuff, so what could possibly go wrong?

If Olive lives through this night, she can look forward to a career acting in teen slasher movies.

Curtis, 7/23/14

You know, we missed Kwanzaa this year, but I’ll accept that X-ray in panel 1 and Chang’s pants as partial compensation.

Crock, 7/23/14

Still not as heartless as Funky Winkerbean. Up your game, Crock.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/23/14

Kelly – “What if I am insufficiently pleasing to SARAH? How could I go on living?
Niki – “That was before! Things are different now — and by ‘different’, I mean ‘later.'”

Heathcliff, 7/23/14

This started out a three-panel comic, but no newspaper would print the other two.

— Uncle Lumpy

Post Content

Dick Tracy, 7/22/14

Oh yeah, Diet Smith and “Daddy” Warbucks are both working on time-travel projects, just to simplify things. And Dick’s left-behind wrist wizard IS OF NO POSSIBLE USE IN FINDING HIM, so everybody please stop noticing when Smith brings it up nonstop 24/7, okay?

But the really charming thing about this strip is Sam’s tantrum. Plutocrats Diet Smith and “Daddy” Warbucks use Dick Tracy’s shadow army to protect and conceal their secret worldwide totalitarian superstate, but when push comes to shove it’s always Sam bustin’ perps and crackin’ skulls. Sure, he helped patrol the sector during the Moon Years, but chasing crooks down the Corridors of Time is just too damn much work, and if you try to pull that “it can’t be overtime if it’s in the past” crap, you are definitely gonna hear from his union rep.

Funky Winkerbean, 7/22/14

Comic John doesn’t really listen when people talk: “Garage Con? Yeah, my friend has those!” Any more “storage/solitude” and “book/bat” wordplay, though, and Holly will tune him out, too.

Judge Parker, 7/22/14

“Well let’s see, because she’s a 23-year-old who’s still drawing princess dresses and whose idea of running a factory is screaming at an immigrant seamstress, ‘You call this a flounce?’”

Ha ha Abby saw the title of this article, but couldn’t be bothered to read it.

— Uncle Lumpy