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The Phantom, 8/26/05

Apartment 3-G, 8/26/05

Yes, it’s true: whether your man is facing backwards or forwards, and whether you’re about to get dumped by your boyfriend due to some arbitrary chunk of narrative convenience or about to get involuntarily drugged and have your memories purged by a purple-latex-clad freak and his pygmy sidekick, there’s nothing that starts the weekend off right better than a nice hug. Hugs to all of you, Curmudgeon readers!

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Mary Worth, 8/25/05

I think JEFF IS IMPATIENT because you’ve been going out for years and the nights are still ending with a chaste peck on the cheek, Mary. Rita is just the latest excuse you’ve been able to throw into his horny path. I don’t think even your pink-psychedelic-starfish-t-shirt-and-pleated-baby-blue-skirt combo is going to dissuade him from his quixotic goal. He’s already at home, surfing the Internet with his one-handed, 19-key keyboard, looking for dirt on Rita to get her out of the picture. Maybe if there were a little more action going on, he wouldn’t need a one-handed keyboard, if you know what I’m saying.

By the way, if you want to see ol’ Dr. Jeff busting a move on Mary, check out this entry on Smitty Smedlap’s blog, Subdivided We Stand. Very disturbing.

Wouldn’t Wilbur the bald-headed advice columnist be a good person to consult for guidance in this situation? Perhaps; but a look over at Gil Thorp reveals that the legendary Marty Moon, insane with grief over the failure of his charity-based romance, has cut off one of Wilbur’s hirsute arms and is having someone slap him in the eye with it:

All this drama has been having a negative effect on Apartment 3-G’s Lu Ann over the past few days. Especially the head part of Lu Ann. Watch out, everybody, she’s gonna blow!

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Apartment 3-G, 8/21/05

Time-and-space-warpingly dull the current storyline of Apartment 3-G may be, but Sunday’s whacked-out installment reminds us why we love it. Flailing limbs, radiating bobble-head motion lines, near catfights over secondhand clothing — ah, pure bliss. I think Margo’s look of panic in the second panel of the middle row as her precious, precious hideous yellow jacket is yanked away may be her best ever. Still, Lu Ann shouldn’t be so smug about the number she just pulled on her brunette roommate — with the many close relationships Margo formed in the sweatshop sector, she can probably get those twenty shirts to Lu Ann for less than eight cents a shirt.

By the way, a little Googling doesn’t bring anything up for “Granger” as a designer or brand name for clothing. Are the strip’s writers so lazy that they just used the first WASPy name that popped into their heads instead of doing thirty seconds of research to come up with a real label? Or is the fashion world united in its refusal to be associated with this deeply unhip comic?