Beetle Bailey, 3/21/12
Amos Halftrack, aspirational onanist.
Judge Parker, 3/21/12
Nuzzling, not muzzling!
Blondie, 3/21/12
Dagwood Bumstead, Siri’s bitch.
Cuss Skunk, urban hero.
Mark Trail, 3/21/12
Stink Jacket saves the day.
— Uncle Lumpy
Apartment 3-G, 3/20/12
Ah, spring is here — and while Margo thinks it will take a brainload of potent lady-hormones to light up pregnant-but-not-feeling-it Nina, poor naïve Tommie thinks sunshine and blue skies alone will do the trick. I can’t wait to hear Lu Ann weigh in with a prescription for moonbeam sandwiches and unicorn juice.
Curtis, 3/20/12
Say, when is Nina due, anyway — and how will her pregnancy play out in strip time? With multiple plotlines, Apartment 3-G can at least dip in and out of the Nina ‘n’ Scott story — Rex Morgan, M.D. would be all-Nina-all-the-time until delivery or catatonic ennui sets in, whichever comes first. Let’s just all be thankful this isn’t Judge Parker, where time moves so slowly that pregnancy is effectively permanent, or Funky Winkerbean, where it’s invariably fatal.
Wait, did you hear something? I think I drifted off there for a minute.
Crankshaft, 3/20/12
Alas, no hormone, season, or diet can bring relief to Pam and Jeff Murdoch. No sooner do they acquire another noisy trinket to distract themselves from the gaping hole in their lives than the ‘hole opens his damn mouth to ruin it all again.
Gasoline Alley, 3/20/12
Kindhearted nitwit Rufus celebrates the equinox watching nightmare TV while starving himself to feed his clowder of ingrate cats.
Crock, 3/20/12
But it could be worse — it could be Crock. You can carve that in stone.
Just watch your fingers.
— Uncle Lumpy
Mark Trail, 3/19/12
RUN! IT’S NOT THE COPS!
Mary Worth, 3/19/12
On Santa Royale’s exclusive Strada Fellini, Nola chats with an imaginary friend on her invisible phone as her bag levitates nearby. A mannequin beckons.
Suddenly, disgraced executive Dan Smithers emerges from his spin on the world’s fastest downward spiral. Disheveled hair? Check! Patchy stubble? Belligerent scowl? Clenched fist? Check, check, and check!
But Dan hasn’t let himself go completely — look at that impeccably custom-tailored down-and-out suit he ordered a few weeks back:
“Ats-a too far back for a pocket, signore Smithers!”
“It’s for a hip flask, Tony — gotta be on my hip, or what’s the point?”
“OK, but the pocket she’s-a too short! All the booze she’s-a gonna fall out!”
“People expect to see the booze, Tony — this is Mary Worth!”
“OK, but all this work its-a gonna cost you!”
“That’s all right — I stole enough to cover it.”
Marvin, 3/19/12
Decisions, decisions — grunt out a labored comparison between peer and peristaltic pressure, or plop down the wry observation that Marvin’s beloved toy is a dump truck? Oops, I’ve disgusted myself. Crap!
You know, if Marvin’s retrograde toilet habits really bother his parents so much, they could just stop feeding him. No one would complain. They’ve brought this on themselves.
Hmpf. I wonder if there’s anything interesting going on in Marmaduke?
Marmaduke, 3/19/12
Nope.
— Uncle Lumpy