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Gasoline Alley, 6/13/13

Gasoline Alley’s current plotline involves the contemptible Slim being left to his own devices after his wife travelled to Hawaii without him, but things seem to be looking up as he heads upstairs to accidentally stumble upon his neighbor’s marijuana home-grow operation.

Heathcliff, 6/13/13

Moreover, where does he get the sycophants who laugh uproariously as he savagely beats the uncannily accurate depiction of his owner dangling lifelessly from a limb chosen for its maximum visibility from the house?

Mary Worth, 6/13/13

Pretty sure that even at this moment of sudden and terrible self-knowledge Elinor doesn’t consider herself a “creature,” Narration Box. This sort of needless editorializing is why so many of us don’t trust the mainstream media anymore.

Gil Thorp, 6/13/13

“You OK, Jimmy?”

“Of course I’m not OK, coach! There’s some monstrously huge hand-thing crawling up my chest! Augh, now it’s reaching for my neck! Get it off me, for the love of God, get it off me!”

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Apartment 3-G, 6/12/13

There are so many things I [love/am horrified by] (this is a single emotion that I trust is familiar to anyone reading this blog) about today’s Apartment 3-G that I can hardly stand it. Let’s start with the idea that Lu Ann lacks the rudimentary linguistic-cultural competencies necessary to parse the concept of a “famous stylist,” which would be pretty embarrassing even if she hadn’t fairly recently been on a reality TV show in the course of which she got a makeover from a famous stylist. Then add in the fact that what had on Monday been an ignorable peach-orange shirt has today suddenly become a peach-orange shirt insanely paired with an all white suit jacket, which, when combined with Lu Ann’s weirdly rubbery-seeming fish-lipped visage, makes her look like a villain from the Adam West Batman. Look, the governor is affectionally patting her mask-face! Haha, this is a [nightmare/delight].

Funky Winkerbean, 6/12/13

Man, Funky Winkerbean is really going there, if by “there” we mean “dragging one of the sad sack characters from Crankshaft ten years through a time-wormhole into the Funkypresent.” Things we’ve learned today: Jeff looks even more beaten down by life and depressed than he does in the Crankpresent; and, Crankshaft still lives, but has been banished to a nursing home, and thus presumably no longer endangers children by driving a bus. What about Jeff’s terrible mother? Has she finally shaken off this mortal coil? I’m legitimately on tenterhooks!

Crankshaft, 6/12/13

Meanwhile, back in the Crankpresent, my shriveled black heart twitched in delight at Crankshaft’s look of genuine panic in the second panel. Is this the moment when the school district decides to let him go from the job that lets him preserve a modicum of independence and dignity? Let’s hope!

Mark Trail, 6/12/13

Oh, man, I’ve been totally neglectful in keeping you up to date with the new storyline in Mark Trail, which involve otter poaching and otter traps and rescuing injured otters, and have been bubbling along on just this side of hilarity. But I think it’s safe to say that the sentence “How are the otters today, Rusty?” crosses that line at a pretty fast clip.

B.C., 6/12/13

The B.C. creative team apparently has only a vague idea of what the “internet” is or how one interacts with it.

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Family Circus, 6/11/13

Hey, everyone, grown-up Keane Kid Jeff Keane is once again pretending to be his older brother Glen’s in-panel avatar Billy filling in for his deceased father, who we’re pretending is still in charge of drawing the strip. Got it? Anyway, this hall-of-mirrors meta-version of Billy is gracing us with illustrated puns this week, and it’s only Tuesday and we’ve already reached ULTIMATE NIGHTMARE LEVEL. Ha ha, look, it’s a majestic lion, king of beasts, lying dead, the vague odor of rot already beginning to waft up from him. A horrifyingly cheerful Big Daddy Keane stands only inches away and pelts the corpse with bloody chunks of meat. I mean, I guess if you’ve already decided that “meat” as a transitive verb means “hurl raw steak at,” why not go all the way into horror, you know?

Better Half, 6/11/13

Speaking of rotting meat, it sounds like Stanley’s past his due date, and will be dead soon! Maybe he’s already putrefying from within? I was going to say that there has to be a sexier set-up for noticing something on your spouse’s naked body than “checking each other for suspicious moles,” but considering Harriet’s husband is a walking semi-corpse, who can blame her here.

Heathcliff, 6/11/13

I guess I would judge a seafood restaurant’s quality not only by the number of cats it attracts, but also by its ability and determination to keep said cats out of the dining areas? Anyway, behind that middle door there’s just a room full of sand and cat shit, FYI.