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Pluggers, 8/28/06

I have nothing particularly hateful to say about today’s Pluggers, which is a good thing, because “Jason Rhea” of “Littleton, CO” is none other than Comics Curmudgeon faithful reader and occasional commentor Racing Js! So, congrats, Jason, on being the first Curmdgeoner Cardinal (but not, we hope the last) to get your home-spun wisdom enacted by freakish beast-persons.

Meanwhile, the comics’ other great reader-entry feature is proving itself to be a tougher nut to crack.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 8/28/06

Could this be the most cold-hearted TDIET yet? Allow me to paraphrase: “When he was healthy and in the prime of his life, Grandpa Croaker enjoyed his body’s youthful strength, and thought nothing of walking from place to place. But now that the ravages of age have broken down his joints and sucked the energy from his soul — howzat? — he’d prefer not to walk if he doesn’t have to.” The name “Croaker” is just piling on, letting us know that his inability to walk to the corner is a herald of his swiftly impending death. Oh yeah!

Gil Thorp, 8/28/06

Last summer, square-headed superteen Von Hanley managed to defeat a stalker with just a bunch of flashlights and his quick wits; this year, he, Marty, and Mandy, presumably after repeated viewing of The Sting, are apparently conspiring together to grift the grifter, and prove that two wrongs really do make a right. Since golf isn’t Von’s forte, and our three wannabe hustlers probably have about 130 IQ points between them, I have to assume that once Mandy arrives, she and Marty are just going to hold Ben Franklin down while Von administers a savage beatdown with his $4 Salvation Army putter.

For Better Or For Worse, 8/28/06

God damn, is Liz going to have all of her problems solved by women leaving their husbands?

By the way, Liz is way, way too excited about the opportunity to teach little suburban children. Yeah, it’s her life dream and blah blah blah, but you can’t tell me that any job short of, oh, I don’t know, the Governor General’s Official Fluffy Kitten Petter And Delicious Chocolate Eater would generate the kind of deranged enthusiasm portrayed here. No, her over-the-top reaction to a mere interview (which magically morphs into a job offer the moment she hangs up the phone), combined with her freakishly dilated pupils, the slovenly nature of her hovel, and her inability to focus on one thing long enough to pour her mac and cheese out of the pot and into a bowl can indicate only one thing about Liz: she’s all methed up. I for one look forward to the heartbreaking lessons about drug abuse that we’re about to learn.

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People, people: the moment you’ve all been waiting for has at last arrived. Aldomania 2006 merchandise is ready for purchase!

In anticipation of overwhelming demand, we have four shirt styles available: a ringer T, a junior baby doll T, a baseball jersey, and a junior raglan. PURCHASE! CONSUME! CONSUME! I DEMAND IT!

And once you’ve purchased and consumed, you need to send me a photo of yourself wearing your newly acquired product. Faithful reader bootsybooks recently let her friends and neighbors know where they can find more information about licorice:

C’mon, Comics Curmudgeon-gear purchasers, I need those pictures! I don’t have a “Hat Man” hat pic yet, which is clearly a crying shame. Just to show that I’m not above being pictured in ludicrous poses, I offer you this picture of myself in my snazzy finger–quotin’ Margo shirt:

Yes, I am at the Minnesota State Fair making finger quotes in front of a finger-quotin’ bear carved out of a log with a chainsaw. You kind of had to have been there.

Finally, for those of you who didn’t see it in the comments, you should all of you, those of you who enjoy 17th century poetry and those who do not, appreciate faithful reader Uncle Lumpy’s homage to our favorite mustachioed stalker and Andrew Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress.

To Aldo’s Coy Mistress

HAD we but world enough, and Time,
This coyness, Mary, were no crime —
An age to lounge beside the pool,
And suffer some damn chinbeard fool,
To squander half a human life
Conversing with his moron wife,
To gab the gab of Charterstone,
And scarf croquettes with my sweet crone.
O Mary! If but time allowed,
You could have done as you have vowed:
Be true to Jeff, your noble doc!
Keep one eye, dreaming, on the clock
That when he’s fixed up the displasia
Of every lip in Southeast Asia,
He’ll break free of his houseboy’s arms,
And fly to your uncertain charms.
But I, like water on the stone
Infest the nest that Jeff has flown
And — mixing metaphors with glee —
Insinuate my love on thee!
The fear, the rage, the angry glances
Which now repel my sweet advances
In time will grow attenuated
While my own Fires rage unabated.
In Time my Mojo I’ll unleash,
For time is on my side — capisce?

But always at my back I hear
A distant siren, drawing near
Foreshadowing my interdiction
By those of my old jurisdiction
Who think I may have killed my wife —
The fingerprints, the bloody knife,
Do little good to exculpate me —
I fear a jail cell may await me!
So Mary, Mary, shed that dress —
Though lips say “no”, your eyes say “yes”.
As much as I enjoy the chase
My trophy shall be your embrace.
And no fair rose will be as sweet
As your thin lips when mine they meet!
I’ll stake my claim and take my rest
Upon your desiccated breast
Just like those swans who mate for life.
So don’t you make me get my knife!
Oh, pardon me, you needn’t worry —
Just move it, bitch, I’m in a hurry!
And don’t you dare to cry out, “AAUGH” —
I’ve tapped your phone! I’ve read your blog!
Don’t sink my heart in dark despair —
I demand this be a love we share!
Who spurns the Stalkeroo’s affection
Can take a nap ’til Resurrection.

Oh, and lest we forget our cartoon favorites of yesteryear: Fencepost Frank has a MySpace account. (If you need a refresher on Frank, one of the most awesome Rex Morgan, M.D. incidental characters ever, click here.)

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Apartment 3-G, 8/27/06

And New York loves you, Gina. Except for the part of New York that lives in your apartment building, whom you insist on insulting. Kids these days! With their hairy shirts and inability to filter their ids and whatnot. Still, we all should grateful for Gina, because her inappropriate blabbermouthery generated a rare triple head-bobble in panel four, though if Tommie isn’t secretly enjoying this display, I’ll eat Margo’s hat. Margo, meanwhile, gives us one moment of wounded vulnerability in panel five before launching a patented icy stare at the Professor in the final panel. Gina had better be taking notes right now.

Oh, and what the hell is going on with the word “Frida” randomly appearing on Tommie’s face in the first panel? Creepy. As. Hell. My guess: it’s a prison tattoo of the name of her girlfriend, who’s still on the “inside.” Watch out, Ted: she’s spoken for!

Judge Parker, 8/27/06

I don’t mean to harsh on the aesthetic endeavors of a pair of overpampered teenage girls, but I find Raju’s haircut, while an improvement over his old greaseball look, to be insufficiently hilarious. Clearly, we need to turn to a professional to get him Queer Eyed. Say, does Randy Parker have some spare time? I hear he’s not the marrying kind. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. No, not going to get married any time soon. No, sir.

Judge Parker seems to be jealous of Apartment 3-G’s newfound ability to keep several plot balls in the air at once, as it’s introducing yet another story thread: the case of the missing horse feed! I’m sure it will be riveting.

Mary Worth, 8/27/06

“Actually, it may be more than a plan, it may be a harebrained scheme!” If Toby’s plan involves Mary’s feminine wiles, a woodchipper, and a gross of industrial-strength Hefty bags, I for one will be a happy guy. Just don’t look directly at her shirt, or you’ll get seasick.

Marvin, 8/27/06

Aaaaand here come the Chinese child labor jokes.