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Hey all, just a quick note to those of you who are in the Baltimore region and casting about for things to do tonight: you should come see Everything All The Time, a fab variety show, at the Metro Gallery in Station North! Here’s a picture of a flyer hanging in a window:

The part of “Gary The Emotionally Insecure Substitute Yoga Instructor” will be played by “me”! Here’s a Facebook event with all the info that’s in the picture!

You would be very emotionally secure if you were the one who came up with this great comment of the week:

“I like Wilbur’s single-fistin’ foot-long-eatin’ form in this Mary Worth: no sissy ‘double-handing’ techniques like the college students on the BK-Lounge ads for this experienced campaigner.” –TicketyBo

You should not feel bad about being a runner up, either!

“Also, as long as we’re completely awake and lucid, female Reggie, I’d like to compliment you on your all-purple furniture … It really compliments how the walls are melting into the floor. Also I would like to request your assistance in prying this crown off my head since it seems to have achieved sentience and is engulfing my soul.” –Tophat

“Gotta pay for those pharmaceuticals somehow. Plug Life!” –pugfuggly

“OK, so between panel one and panel two of today’s Apartment 3-G, the fawn morphed from deer to chupacabra. For once, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s A3G.” –Voshkod

Luann: “Brad wants a huge wedding, so they can invite … who? His parents, Luann, T.J., Toni’s brother, Shannon, and some generic unidentified people from the fire department? I think he’s severely overestimated the size of his supporting cast.” –Joshua

“From our outpost in suburban Palermo we note several items today worthy of comment. However, we shall restrict ourselves to Dr. [Rex] Morgan’s teal shirt. Really, Doctor? Teal is for chiropractors.” –Fashion Police

Apartment 3-G: “Wait, is that a hi-rise building just on the other side of the trees from a compound that’s only accessible by a long and barely-passable dirt road? Omigod Omigod Omigod, ‘Happiness Falls’ is a neighborhood in Brooklyn. This is truly breaking new ground for this strip, as will the rap-rhyme spitting, fawn-eating street horse in tomorrow’s panels.” –The Rt. Venerable Pasdordan

“Is the vet enlisting Tommie’s help in euthanizing the world’s only invisible horse?” –DAS

“We were somewhere around a table on the inside of Jerry’s Sandwich Shop when the mayonnaise began to take hold.” –Dood

“Wow, Gizmo’s like a one-man steampunk DARPA. I hope he gets killed, the hipster fuck.” –Doctor Handsome

“I’ve been out of the country for a while, when did pluggers start changing their underwear?” –SF_Reader

“Oh, I don’t know. At least ‘yellowfin tuna’ is metrically equivalent (dactyl, trochee) to ‘Louisville Slugger’, so the caption makes some sense, in a free-associational, ichthyoschizophrenic way.” –Dr. Y. Zowl

“‘Bleat, bleat’ doesn’t strike me as cries of hunger as much as it seems to be the fawn’s sardonic comments on this moronic conversation.” –cheech wizard

Thanks to everyone who put some scratch in my tip jar! And, just as an advertising program note, I’ve started using BuySellAds as a platform for you to buy ads directly on my site on a CPM basis. To find out more, you can go to my BuySellAds page or just click here.

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Hagar the Horrible, 4/4/14

In benighted, backwards 10th century Scandinavia, where even the rudimentary medical knowledge of the Greeks and Romans either had never been learned or was long forgotten, doctors worked on some combination of superstition, ignorance, and fraud, and so patients may as well have offered their own suggestions and advice on treatment. Still, Helga seems more pleased than you’d think imagining her husband being gorily dismembered in a scene that sounds less like surgery and more like a bloody sacrifice to the violent Norse pantheon.

Crock, 4/4/14

It’s true: working in retail may be low-paying and low-status, but it sure beats dying in a far-off colonial war when your tiny, isolated fortlet is overrun by a bloodthirsty enemy.

Heathcliff, 4/4/14

Remember when Heathcliff panels about using marine life as sporting equipment seemed to be written so as to include jokes of some kind, even if they weren’t obviously funny in any way? Well, now they’re just naming fish species. Sad, really.

Apartment 3-G, 4/4/14

I was going to make a joke that panel one here featured Tommie’s post-coital request for oral servicing from this rough-hewn large animal vet, or that Lily in panel two had become so crazed with hunger that she learned how to open a car door, but then I got a good look at Tommie’s huge, terrifying claw-flipper in the first panel, so now I’m just going to sit here and gibber wordlessly for a while.

Better Half, 4/4/14

Speaking of horrifying nightmare-things, it looks like Cthulhu has finally awoken from his dreamless billion-year slumber! HAVE PITY ON US, CRUEL OLD ONE, AND CONSUME OUR SOULS WITH A MINIMUM OF AGONY

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Shoe, 4/3/14

The workings of the human mind are mysterious and arbitrary. My own particular mind, for instance, struggles to remember the identities of the advanced hominids in B.C., but uses valuable neurological space to retain the names and schticks of each and every one of the bird-people of Shoe. Loon, for instance, is a sort of noble fool character whose jokes often revolve around his simplistic misunderstandings of life events. Thus, despite Roz’s Goggle Eyes of Murderous Rage here, I think we’re supposed to read his statement not as cruelty but as a harmless literal interpretation of a metaphorical product name. Still, he seems awfully sanguine for someone who casually believes that a substance exists that makes face-flesh invisible and, when applied properly, leaves its wearer’s brain and sinus cavities visible to anyone who wants to take a look.

Beetle Bailey, 4/3/14

I’ve never been in the military and I’m not a gun guy, so I could be wildly off-base on this, but my guess is that Sarge is less mad about Gizmo’s unauthorized but high-tech modifications to his rifle and more about his appalling attitude towards weapons safety, since he appears to be casually pointing the barrel without really looking in the direction of his fellow soldiers (and, more specifically, in the direction of Sarge’s crotch).

Funky Winkerbean, 4/3/14

Last year we breached the narrative space-time barrier between Crankshaft and Funky Winkerbean, two strips existing in the same universe but 10 years apart, and reality wasn’t torn to shreds, so we have more of that to look forward to, I guess? It appears that the current dullsville “Cory’s mom looks is trying to complete his comic book collection while he’s in Afghanistan” plot is going to dovetail with the even snoozier Crankshaft “Jeff finds his beloved comic books in the attic” storyline (for certain limited definitions of “story”) from earlier this month. Glad you enjoyed those comics again, Jeff! In ten years, your daughter is going to sell them to some lady. Anyway, for everyone who reads Crankshaft and hates its title character, the good news we get today is that 10 years in his future he’s ranting and raving in a squalid old folks’ home somewhere, where nobody’s listening to him.

Pluggers, 4/3/14

PLUGGERS WERE USED TO THINGS BEING ONE WAY BUT NOW THEY’RE ANOTHER WAY WHY ARE THINGS ALLOWED TO CHANGE WHHHYYYYYYY