Comment of the Week

Really liking that accusing look on Dennis's face. 'I was promised some kind of circus freak who lived like a dog, and instead I get this boring suburban schmoe? Boo! Zero stars!’

pugfuggly

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Apartment 3-G, 6/6/08

Reasons why Margo might have the Wedding March set as her phone’s ringtone:

  • She’s read the The Secret and now believes she can make a marriage proposal happen by sheer force of will; thus, she surrounds herself with wedding-related media at all times.
  • That ringtone indicates a phone call from her hapless assistant Sam, who’s been left in charge of her now largely forgotten wedding planning business. He’s probably calling for help about yet another peacock-related disaster.
  • That ringtone’s been assigned to Eric, about whom Margo finally stopped caring about five minutes ago. He’s using his satellite phone to make his one phone call from the police station allowed by Chinese law before he has his organs harvested, but Margo’s decided to fall for Jack’s brushcut charms instead.

(By the way, that strip with Sam in it that I linked to above is more than a year old, and Margo is already boasting about her imminent engagement! So sad, so sad.)

Mary Worth, 6/6/08

“That’s right, Mary! Now that my mother’s literal dead weight is no longer holding me back, I’m someone of stature and consequence in this town! That woman in the hideously patterned shirt … that intellectual snob, out reading in public … why, I could have either of them thrown in jail, their lives destroyed, as easy I can clench my right fist, like so! I’ll be ordering you the house Chianti at La Rosa, but I won’t be drinking any; I’m already drunk with power!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/6/08

“No way, man! You’ll pry my filthy, soiled wrestling mats from my cold, dead, MRSA-infected hands!”

Slylock Fox, 6/6/08

Cowboy one is out of his mind on mescaline; cowboy three is taking a “spirit journey” thanks to peyote; cowboys two and four are tweaking on good, old-fashioned meth.

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Family Circus, 6/5/08

A discussion about the nature of eternity, set against a blank, featureless void: behold the beginning of the transformation of the Family Circus into Existential Despair Comics.

Mark Trail, 6/5/08

“No! When Kelly took my pictures, she made me do things and touched me and it made me feel funny and bad! I MUST PROTECT THE ANIMALS!”

Gil Thorp, 6/5/08

“I mean, he’s still a total douche, so by all means carry on with the assault; I just can’t stand to see a savage beatdown conducted under false pretenses. It cheapens it, you know?”

Spider-Man, 6/5/08

“That’s my wife! The only thing she cares about more than my health is money, and the things you can buy with money.”

Pluggers, 6/5/08

Oh man, that plume of noxious smoke is just the delicious icing on the “fuck you, hippies”-flavored cake.

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The Phantom, 6/4/08

So for the past few days, the Ghost-Who-Is-Pretty-Darn-Ripped and his wife have been strutting around in various states of undress on an abandoned oil platform somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, for no reason that you need to worry your pretty little heads about other than that it provides an opportunity for hot superhero-on-diplomat action. This has no doubt been delightful to faithful reader Bootsy, who can’t get enough of that stripey, stripey ass. Today’s strip is particularly hilarious in the stripey ass department, as we see that the Phantom sleeps in his stripey briefs and purple tights, though he lets his manly, muscled (and, if the final panel is any indication, nippleless) torso breathe.

Mary Worth, 6/4/08

About a year ago, I was forced to contemplate a question: Is there anything more vile than watching Vera and Dr. Drew have phone sex on bland and hideously colored sheets? At the time, I said “no”, obviously, but I now know that watching Mary and Ron have phone sex on bright and hideously colored upholstery is worse. KEEP THOSE HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM, YOU TWO.

Crankshaft, 6/4/08

By the look of glum despair on the balding green-shirted dude’s face, I’m guessing that this isn’t the first Crankshaft trademarked misanthropic witticism he’s had to endure during his 40+ minute wait in the security line.

Apartment 3-G, 6/4/08

Oh, Alan! That’s not “petty cash,” that’s Margo’s coke fund. She likes the powdered stuff, because unlike you she is classy, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be assaulting you like a crazed basehead when she realizes what you’ve done.