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Due to stupid real-world time pressures, I probably won’t be able to post today’s comics until late tonight or maybe even tomorrow, but I felt that this article in the Toronto Star needed to be brought to the attention of those who don’t read the comments post haste. (Thanks to faithful reader Big Stu for the link!) Long story short, it’s yet another feature about the future of FBOFW, with yet another version of what’s going to happen to the strip after this fall. That keeps changing because, as Johnston says in the story, she hasn’t really figured out exactly what she’s going to do yet.

But! The important thing is that the article contains a poll asking readers to which of Lizardbreath’s suitors she should pledge her troth. It’s on the right-hand side of the page, about halfway down the story. Against all logic and decency, The Mustache is currently in the lead with 40 percent; Paul has 33 percent and Warren 25 percent. Clearly the addition of Warren was an attempt to dilute the anti-Anthony hate, but I think all of you know what needs to be done about this poll. Go forth and cast your votes!

Apropos of nothing, but since I’ve got your attention, Gil Thorp fans and haters alike owe it to themselves to check out This Week In Milford. There’s a dramatic movie trailer built completely out of GT panels that is particularly amusing.

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Apartment 3-G, 1/9/07

Apartment 3-G ought by right to serve at least a little bit as an anthropological survey of life and mores of various types in New York City. 99 percent of the time it’s laughably off-target, but every once in a while it hits the mark. Margo is exactly the sort of yuppie wannabe who would make this sort of snarky, dismissive comment about New York’s superabundance of artist wannabes, and has exactly the sort of defective empathy gene to make it in front of her roommate and supposed friend, an aspiring artist.

Lu Ann, meanwhile, has one of the thinnest books of art history I’ve ever seen. Presumably that’s all the information her little brain can hold. I guess that helpful, horny librarian ended up taking her to the children’s section, which may explain why that relationship went nowhere.

Gil Thorp, 1/9/07

Note to Gil Thorp and Comics Curmudgeon readers: Please, please stop making fun of the art in this strip, because you’ll only goad the artists into perpetrating more unsettling attempts at photorealism like panel three here. I guess the point is supposed to be that Helen is making this daring investigative phone call in the dark because that’s, you know, more dramatic.

Rick Bozich is right, by the way: nobody cares about no-bid contracts, especially when the contracts involved are for IT services to a no-account exurban school district, as they are here. Presumably the Man and/or lack of public interest will force the Star to kill Helen’s exposé, and she’ll have to resort to the ultimate indignity: turning to the world of blogs. Her spiritual brother, that crusading journalist known only as HALIBURTON $UCKS, was forced down the same path.

Dennis the Menace, 1/8/09

I think that about fifteen years from now, we’ll find out [INNUENDO-LADEN JOKE ABOUT A “MARGARET SANDWICH” REDACTED DUE TO EXTREMELY POOR TASTE] hey, is Dennis drinking Metamucil?

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Archie, 1/5/07

More proof that Archie’s text is created by a joke-generating computer: In what context would any actual biological life form use the phrase “Why aren’t you out there hustling?” The only one I can imagine would be in some ’80s teen comedy in which, due to a hilarious series of misunderstandings, a snooty, stuck-up rich guy who’s never worked a day in his life has to coach a band of misfits to the state basketball championship. Oh, sure, at first they make fun of his patrician patois and attempts to talk “street” — “Fellows, why aren’t you out there hustling?”, “I say, that slam dunk was really quite smashing!” — but then they’d explain to him that in certain semantic contexts “bad” can mean “good” and soon enough they’d come together as a team, win the inevitable slobs vs. snobs title game (against the coach’s alma mater, natch), and learn the true meaning of friendship.

An alternative interpretation: The “coach” is actually Archie and gang’s pimp, and he wants to know why they aren’t out there “hustling” and making him some money. The less said about that scenario, the better, but it’s worth noting that such activity could indeed scuff up Svenson’s floor.

And speaking of the wacky Scandinavian janitor: usually overalls are not the garment of choice for those who want to showcase their trim physique, but Svenson’s are awful tight in the rear end. OK, I’ll stop.

Gil Thorp, 1/5/07

You know, despite all the internal dissension that’s clearly troubling this year’s Milford girls basketball team, I think it’s a safe bet that, like the great strife-torn Oakland A’s teams in the ’70s, the Lady Mudlarks are going to do just fine in the standings. Any team that has a player for whom an over-the-shoulder, no-look fling at a basket more than thirty feet away is an “easy two” should take care of the competition without too much fuss.

People criticize the Gil Thorp art, but I’m kind of in love with the strip’s crowd scenes. I like the expression on the faces of Bald Trench Coat And Black Turtleneck Guy and Person Of Indeterminate Gender Wearing A Fur-Trimmed Jacket And Hat Even Though He Or She Is Inside. “Hey, Overbearing Basketball Mom, we’re trying to enjoy the game here, so shut up! Also, if you’re trying to amplify and/or direct your voice, putting your thumbs behind your ears is probably not the best technique.”

Judge Parker, 1/5/07

Oh man, I refuse to believe that the Judge Parker gay-baiting election storyline, which only got started in late August, can possibly be over already. I mean, this is Judge Parker: five months of real time is equivalent to, what, twenty minutes? I’m assuming that by “best friend” Sam means Reggie’s doughy lawyer Roy, who, if there’s any justice in this world, we’ll get to see on the business end of a Celeste-wielded microphone when the beans are inevitably spilled.

Perhaps it’s Roy who’s been leaking Reggie’s campaign materials to faithful reader Wille Thompson. Here’s a flyer that sadly will now never be used:

Mary Worth, 1/5/07

Any Jungian will tell you that dreams are not meant to be taken literally: they instead offer guidance through metaphors. Thus, we should not interpret Mary’s vision to mean that Dr. Jeff is drowning in some malarial Southeast Asian swamp; instead, we should understand that the true barrier to deeper intimacy in their relationship is the good doctor’s terrible incontinence.