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Mary Worth, 11/14/11

For someone who had a careful list of all her credit card information on hand in case of theft, Mary sure seems shaken by the fact that her credit cards were stolen. In an ideal world the purpose of the list is to make her feel smug and prepared, and perhaps even allow her to assert her superiority over those who don’t have her foresight. She should never have to actually use it, how gauche!

I’d like to believe that Mary’s thought balloon in the second panel heralds some rethinking of her world view, and an understanding that we do not live in an ideal world, that bad things sometimes happen to good people, or even to the best people (i.e., Mary). But probably it just presages her transformation into a brutal masked vigilante who will hunt down criminals wherever they hide, which, I should emphasize, will also be pretty great.

Mark Trail, 11/14/11

Gosh, Kelly, I’m not sure what it is that Mother McQueen might want to melt, in relation to making her gold goose bands? Gold? Does gold melt? Gold does melt, right? Will someone answer Kelly? Someone? I mean, she is talking to someone, right? Otherwise she’s just talking loudly to nobody in particular while in the process of sneaking around at night, which is clearly ridiculous. C’mon, whoever she’s talking to, get her on the right track!

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Family Circus, 11/13/11

Man, the disgusted look on Big Daddy Keane’s face as he realizes that his daughter views sacred communion with God as just another sordid amusement is pretty priceless. One hopes that he remains so focused on her that he doesn’t notice Billy making a wholly inept attempt to summon up the Prince of Darkness by reading the hymnal upside down.

Crankshaft, 11/13/11

Crankshaft may be old and senile and kind of deaf, and they might have finally gotten some kind of legal mumbo-jumbo that says he isn’t allowed to have all his guns anymore, but he fought the Nazis to save America and by God he isn’t going to let that God-damned Khrushchev and his commies take over his lawn.

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Slylock Fox, 11/12/11

I agree wholly with the lady in this cartoon: when confronted with something that tears a hole in your conception of reality, something whose very existence makes it clear that either the universe is profoundly different from what you’ve been led to believe or that you’ve descended into howling madness and will probably never get out — something like, say, a grinning, tongue-wagging, seven-foot-tall bipedal bear-dog thing sitting on your couch — I would almost certainly ignore it and hope very much that it went away. Yep, just hangin’ out right here on the sofa, next to the fur-covered demon-nightmare, which isn’t really there, you’re just reading the paper and drinking your coffee, and sitting way over here on the end of the couch, by choice, certainly not because some horror-beast is sitting there with you, because it isn’t. When it jostles you in the back, even gently, that’s when this strategy fails. That’s when you have to turn it around and look it in the eyes. Those huge, happy, soulless eyes. God have mercy on your soul.

Blondie, 11/12/11

As far as most readers are concerned, Dagwood’s life is impossibly charmed: the doting and gorgeous wife, the low-impact 9 to 5 job that allows him to nap most of the day in exchange for a little mild physical abuse, the ability to eat as much unhealthy food as he wants without ever seeming to gain a pound. It’s only occasionally that we get glimpses of the fact that he has larger dreams, and that he’s too scared to chase after them, and that his own cowardice is slowly killing him inside.

Apartment 3-G, 11/12/11

I’m sorry, modest in every way? Look at all that damn clavicle! What the hell kind of half-assed oppressive chastity cult is this?