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That’s right! I couldn’t settle one just one, so I’ve got four comics for today! I hope this is storing up goodwill against those days when I don’t post anything at all.

Apartment 3-G, 4/6/06

Tommie’s secret thought balloon in panel three: “Ugh … Lu Ann’s self-actualization … so boring … must pinch neck … to keep myself awake …” Fortunately, she’s a medical professional, and won’t accidentally cut off the bloodflow to her brain and collapse in a heap on the floor. Not that it would stop Lu Ann from nattering on.

9 Chickweed Lane, 4/6/06

Yeah, go ahead, show him the address. After all, he’s a priest! And we all know that they never do anything disreputable or pervy. No sir.

(So I’m going to hell for that. But I was going anyway, so I might as well enjoy the ride.)

Family Circus, 4/6/06

So this is the cookie aisle, right? And all the boxes are arranged on the shelf so that their fronts, with their lovingly detailed close-up pictures of delicious, delicious cookies, are turned so as to be largely invisible to hungry shoppers, while their sides, with detailed information about the massive amounts of fat, industrial chemicals, and animal byproducts in said cookies, are prominently displayed for all to see. Plus, the boxes are all a muted brown. Where do these people shop, the Depressing Store?

Also (and this next paragraph is an extended shout-out to my professional linguist homies over at the Language Log, who have linked to me several times despite my near-total absence of linguistics content), I’ve always found the verb construction Mom’s deploying here pretty stilted and weird. It’s a verb of being governing a negative infinitive, which makes it … well, hell, if I knew that, I’d be writing “I analyze syntax so you don’t have to,” or, you know, the Language Log, instead of this thing. I reached back a decade and rummaged around my half-remembered memories of Latin for a while and came out with the phrase “hortatory subjunctive,” but I don’t think that’s right. Anyway, it does have a certain advantage in that saying “Don’t open it until you get home” would make her look pretty dumb, since he’s already opened it. This way she gets to make a general statement of fact without having to either ignore or explicitly acknowledge the reality of her greedy, gobbly, smarmy little brat of a son.

Gil Thorp, 4/6/06

I’m going to hazard a guess that a year from now the Rap-Dog is still going to be fetching menthols and Mello Yello for his overbearing trailer-bound Momma. Either that or he will have killed and taxidermied her, though even then he’ll probably still be alternately cowering from her wrath and having sullen arguments with her in his mind. Come to think of that, he might very well be doing that already.

It’s hard to stay mad at a woman whose shirt is decorated with tasty Doritos, though. Mmmm … Doritos.

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Family Circus, 4/5/06

PJ’s squalling. Jeffy’s furious. Barfy looks like he’s about to live up to his name. Yep, dad, this is why you became a workaholic. The less time you spend under that hideous drop ceiling, the better.

Herb and Jamaal, 4/5/06

For a while, I thought that the vertical line near our patient’s posterior was supposed to be his buttcrack, which we were seeing thanks to some cubist-style unrealistic perspective, but after some consideration I think it’s just the edge of his hospital gown, and we’re just seeing sidal cheek nudity — naughty, but not offensively icky. It’s a delicate balance when you want to do a rear end gag in a family comic strip. I imagine the artist and the syndicate going back and forth on this one until there was just enough tuckus showing to make the punchline clear, but not so much as to give the bluehairs a case of the vapors. They were ultimately successful, but, sadly, all that effort was still put out in the service of a joke about Jamaal’s ass.

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Mark Trail, 3/14/06

“OK, Josh, we get it,” you’re saying. “Rex Morgan and Doctor Troy are gayer than two cowboys who have surreptitious man-on-man sex with each other in a tent, then move to Massachusetts, get married to one another, open an interior design firm, and serve on the board of directors of the local chapter of GLAAD! But what I really want to know is, what’s going on in Mark Trail?”

Well, I’m glad you asked. When last we checked in on this plotline, “You’re My Lawyer” Blake had been charged with figuring out a way to get the local government to use its power of eminent domain to allow a shady developer to build a road through Lost Forest to his shady casino. What with the Supreme Court’s recent decision about the potential scope of eminent domain, it seems that Blake should be getting to work wining and dining local officials, making sure backs are scratched, and lining up votes, maybe with the help of a kickback or two from his bald-headed boss’s deep pockets.

Instead, he’s placing calls to explosives-wielding miscreants seeking to hire them to blow up the existing road, which, in the it-totally-makes-sense-until-you-think-about-it-for-thirty-seconds world of Mark Trail, will force the government to build an entirely new road to the casino. The flaws in this scheme are too numerous and glaring for me to bother going into, so I’ll content myself with asking the following: did the Bald Baddie really need a lawyer to do this? Surely he has any number of (no doubt bearded and/or sideburned) thugs on retainer who would make the necessary illicit road-demolition arrangements. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching mob movies, it’s that even the boldest criminal enterprise tries to keep its lawyers from actively participating in criminal acts.

The person to watch in this drama (such as it is) is clearly Baldo’s creepy, affectless grandson Tony. We’ve been told that he’s been “having a hard time” since his parents died in an auto accident, yet he’s showing an unseemly interest in watching the road get blown up — just the sort of thing that could make more little boys and girls wards of their sinister grandfathers. Clearly Tony’s loss has destroyed whatever sense of right and wrong he once had. I’m looking forward to finding out just what it is that’s going to make him snap and turn into an unstoppable pint-sized, tousle-haired killing machine.

Meanwhile, here’s a few other things of note that happened in today’s funnies:

Spider-Man, Family Circus, and panels from Curtis, One Big Happy, Get Fuzzy, 3/14/06

As the drama of the fake Spider-Man grinds on, we learn that the Spider-Suit does carry with it one Spider-Power: Spider-Self-Narrative! The relative inability not to verbalize one’s thoughts of a spider!

This panel is noteworthy because, as Curtis’ dad heckles Curtis, his fingertips (or possibly forehead) actually emit the sound effect (stage direction?) “Heckle!” I find this technique pretty charming (much more so here than the last time it was used).

I should also make it clear to all of you that the today’s Curtis is nowhere near as filthy as the dialogue in this panel might lead you to believe.

Also, today’s One Big Happy, Family Circus, and Get Fuzzy are about vomiting, urinating, and eating something unidentified that is almost certainly vomit or feces, respectively:

Actually, now that I think about it, the Family Circus is vaguely about vomit as well, since it reminds us that the family dog is named “Barfy”, which strikes me as the sort of name you earn, if you know what I’m saying.