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Apartment 3-G, 8/20/12

Under the terms of a 2005 bar bet between Apartment 3-G writer Margaret Shulock and artist Frank Bolle, Bolle buys the drinks whenever Shulock traps him into drawing something or somebody new, and Shulock buys when Bolle slips the trap. Now comes Margo’s “breathtaking”, “gorgeous” new client Greg Cooper.

I hope Frank doesn’t have any early meetings tomorrow.

Pardon My Planet, 8/20/12

Oh, is that what those are?

Also, the guy is apparently texting “STD TGIF SOP”, which I think means he’s looking forward to contracting a venereal disease tonight like he does every Friday?

Pluggers, 8/20/12

The First Axiom, “pluggers are obese” is here revealed as inconsistent with the Second Axiom, “pluggers have no shame.” The Pluggers universe will now explode in a hail of lipids and self-hatred. Don’t stand too close.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Mary Worth, 8/19/12

As advertisers of electronic devices, apps, and Web services are learning, it’s tough to make a compelling image out of somebody staring at a screen. I mean, a CEO can feign rapture while eavesdropping on his sales team’s BS from his iPad, but when that ad runs on the front page of the Wall Street Journal, he’s just gonna look like an idiot.

So pity Mary and Toby, stuck on the couch watching Wilbur’s Italian Adventure this week. No amount of compulsive cheek-touching or sedative chit-chat can make them more than props in this turgid recap.

But what’s going on with Ian?

Mary Worth, 8/15–19/12 (excerpts)

Our Favorite Blowhard has been going through the changes all week — from smug confidence that somehow this will all work out well for him, through shock that it doesn’t seem to be going that way, to feigned indifference, alarm, then petulant dismay at the continued disregard of his Presence, and now RAGE that no one — NO ONE — is paying any attention to him at all! Toby’s in for a rough night.

Crankshaft, 8/19/12

Aw, look — it’s a charming and gently amusing Sunday Crankshaft! You gotta love Quad-Cane Guy at second, right? And nobody’s talking! Wait, I guess that’s not a coincidence, is it?

Mark Trail, 8/19/12

Oh, Aristotle my ass: animals that live in the water are fish. Deal with it.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Funky Winkerbean, 8/18/12

Hey, Comic John — that was you whining to Funky about your sex life Monday, right? So maybe you could find some way to comfort your wife and assure her that in your eyes she’s no three-year-old, but a desirable, capable, undeniably adult woman? Perhaps some kind of cooperative adult activity, suitable for the place and time, that would help restore her confidence and could actually work out pretty well for you, too?

No? You’re going with the cheap putdown instead? OK, then — on with the glasses and down the hall: that copy of Power Girl #18 ain’t gonna stain itself, you know!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/18/12

This would be just another episode of “Rex exploits rich old ladies for stuff”, but for two things. First, this old lady is Melissa Claridge, for fifty years a straitlaced hypochondriac who berated Rex for his indifferent courtship of June. Here’s “old” Melissa schooling her lying niece Heidi, thanks to the careful scholarship of Lena Delle at In Search of Rex Morgan, M.D.:

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/16/1971

Yes, that’s old June, née Gale, in the first panel.

The second thing about today’s strip is that look on June’s face in the third panel — of what, exactly? Avarice, which passes for lust in her loveless, superficial life? Maybe, but I like to think it’s hope — of escape, of a normal vacation free from menacing floodwaters, shipboard plague, or psycho boyfriends just this once — or maybe for a return to those sweet old days when despite all Melissa’s prodding Rex stayed far, far away from her.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 8/18/12

And Grampy has had a long long life, wasted trying to dull the misery of his empty marriage with porn and likker. Everyone finds this hilarious.

Love Is, 8/18/12

Heh, heh — it’s funny because DEATH.

Hey, Josh is off-grid for the week at his Secret Writer’s Retreat in the Northern Part of the State. Reach me at uncle.lumpy@comcast.net with site issues, spam alerts, etc.

— Uncle Lumpy