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The twentieth anniversary Comics Curmudgeon Fall Fundraiser is here!

Celebrate two decades of the daily comics mockery we’ve come to know and love. Contribute in the way that best suits your preferences and lifestyle:

• Commenters can enjoy an ad-free online experience, a WYSIWYG comment editor, plus ten full minutes to fix that banned word, life-destroying revelation, or traceable personal information. Comes in handy, let me tell you! Become a Website Subscriber to The Comics Curmudgeon at the link.
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• Patrons of the arts will enjoy the opportunity to support all of Josh’s comedic efforts, including The Comics Curmudgeon, with support through Josh’s Patreon page.
• Traditionalists give the old-fashioned way—PayPal! Click the banner upstairs to make a one-time contribution from your PayPal or credit-card account.
Now with AI, like everything else!
• Pluggers don’t much cotton to all this seamless, virtual, new-fangled nonsense. They send cash money in the mail, and we better by-gum like it! We do! Just request Josh’s address, where you can send cash, checks, gemstones, banned pharmaceuticals, live ruminants, and more. Short on funds? Hock your TV!
• Kids today embrace incomprehensible instant-payment applications like Venmo, which turn photos of speckled squares into financial support for cultural icon Josh Fruhlinger. Sound sketchy? Try it and see!
• Drive-by readers can help boost advertising revenues by turning off their ad-blockers selectively for this site, and occasionally clicking an ad that looks interesting. Every little bit helps!

Contributions in any form are always completely confidential and deeply appreciated.

Click here for an index of links to legacy Comics Curmudgeon fundraising banners stretching all the way back to 2008. And thank you, generous reader!

–Uncle Lumpy

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Dustin, 9/9/24

Deckhand on an Alaskan crab boat.
Choker setter for a logging crew.
Apprentice roofer.

C’mon, Dustin—get it over with.

Dick Tracy, 9/9/24

Sure, Ro-Zan is dangerous but Thorin, with his desperation at Moon Valley losing its atmosphere, known antipathy to Terrans, and blatant disregard for human rights, is no saint either—and he’s headed your way, Diet. Don’t forget, “the nation that controls magnetism will control the universe,” and said nation is emphatically not yours.

Hi and Lois, 9/9/24

Hi will both mash his thumb and pulverize the precious Oxy he’ll need for the pain. Ditto will tell him he can still snort it, but he has to pick out the plastic fragments first. Hi will ignore him—he’s in a hurry, dammit—and maybe he can hassle the E.R. docs for more Oxy to ease the pain from his nosebleed.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/9/24

Truck sits and ponders his answer: “Am I Truck Tyler? Used to be, kid; used to be ….”

—Uncle Lumpy

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The Phantom, 9/8/24

Phantom was growing increasingly vexed
That the proles would identify him as John X.
So by making up missions and playing a role
He set out to bewilder the Jungle Patrol.

Now you may think the Phantom was being a dick,
But protecting The Legend is part of his schtick
And he doesn’t much mind it’s exacting a toll
On his credulous fans at the Jungle Patrol!

So poor Colonel Worubu is having a sad
‘Cause he’s lost the best buddy that he never had.
But his misery’s nothing but damage control
To the Unknown Commander of Jungle Patrol!

Mark Trail, 9/8/24

Mark proposes to save the Catalina Quail by burning down its habitat. It’s possible he doesn’t see that “local shrubbery” and “overgrown uncleared brush” are the same thing. It’s certain he hasn’t thought this all the way through. Either way though, roast quail is delicious.

Family Circus, 9/8/24

What’s more tragic: that Jeffy will grow into a sleep-deprived corporate drone like his Dad, or that Bil will deteriorate into a scatterbrained idiot like his son?

Rex Morgan, M.D. (panels), 9/8/24

Your finger hurts. No one can help you. No one cares. Your career is over and your life is meaningless. Sit, Truck, sit. Sit like you’ve never sat before.

—Uncle Lumpy