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Spend half your life in school and the end of August brims with dread. Here comes!

Mark Trail, 8/31/07

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It begins with smiles — smiles and good, hot coffee savored with the one you love, in a special place in the sun it feels like God created just for you. But it ends in fists — fists, and hair.

So, Elrod — pick up the pace a little, willya?

Apartment 3G, 8/31/07

Oh, this will end in tears. Not only does Tommie have a chance at happiness — she has two, in the persons of Gary Bland and Dr. Joe Doctor. Apparently, this ages her from a toddler in panel 1 through panel 2’s young adult, to the garish, pitted, furrowed crone of #3. Tomorrow’s strip may have her crumbling to dust, muttering somebody’s name — but whose? Meanwhile, Margo’s fixin’ to hate on her, no matter how it turns out.

Funky Winkerbean, 8/31/07

It’s a measure of how far we’ve come in Funky Winkerbean that the arrival of Les’s bête bleu (extruded into the narrative as “my imagination’s wicked way of personifying depression”) is the most interesting thing to happen in months, birthchild reunion and Congressional testimony notwithstanding. With any luck, we’ll enjoy weeks of manufactured irony: “It’s Lisa who’s dying, but Les who is sick!”

Pearls Before Swine, 8/31/07

Theme or no theme, there’s some stuff you just can’t pass by. You gotta love panel 2’s Socialist Realist fanart of Jeffy, and the Dolly pennant. Dare we dream of a day when all the comics exist solely to mock other comics, and our work here is done? Because that would be a day, my droogies; that would be a day.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Blondie, 8/29/07

Long-time Blondie readers have always marvelled at the uncanny resemblance between Dagwood’s neighbor/golf buddy/source of free tools Herb Woodley and mailman Mr. Beasley. The same face, the same bulging forehead, the same mustache. Could they be long-lost relatives? Was Herb actually the neighborhood mailman, assuming a new name and identity as he walked his route for inscrutable reasons of his own? Today, though, as his long-firmly-attached hat goes flying, we learn that, unlike Herb, Mr. Beasley in fact completely bald. It is a testament to the power of the comics and the long-running features within that this has completely blown my fucking mind. Cynic that I am, I can’t stop looking at his bare head.

For Better Or For Worse, 8/29/07

ha ha ha foolish girl no patterson is ever free

Mark Trail, 8/29/07

I’m beginning to suspect that Shirley the Duck has special powers, and I don’t just mean her stunning plumage, which has won her drag king competitions all over Lost Forest. No, first she somehow convinced the construction foreman to halt work on this extremely important mall, and now she’s working her sinister magic on the son of the big boss himself! As more and more people come within range of her mind-control rays, her army will grow larger and larger, until that mall finds itself transformed into a Shirleytarium, dedicated to her care, feeding, and worship. There will be bread crumbs. Many, many bread crumbs.

Slylock Fox, 8/29/07

Wow, that lion is pissed — and, really, can you blame him? Most doctors don’t even take their patients’ pulse themselves, and here some nosey freelance detective is getting Panthera Leo, M.D., to put his hard-earned medical skills to use to bust someone for stealing magazines from the waiting room. I think someone’s going to have some angry words with the managers of Medical Plaza. Presumably the only way to calm him down will be to allow him to eat Slick Smitty, whether he’s guilty or not.

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Gil Thorp, 8/22/07

So, well, uh, I guess my hopes that this might be interesting, or make any damn sense at all, have pretty much been dashed at this point. Way to hold up under pressure there, Cliff. “I didn’t do it!” “We followed you!” “Aw, hell.” I am pretty impressed by Gail’s look of unbridled rage there in panel three. You do not want to get on the wrong side of the rock and roll Carole King, I tell you what. I guess the real lesson here is that shady dudes with Fu Manchu mustaches and a record of drug offenses are actually pretty cool guys! They sure wouldn’t leave passive-aggressive notes scattered around; they’d just insult you to your face.

(But it still doesn’t add up! With the money he earned touring, Cliff was able to buy a van! A van!)

Mark Trail, 8/22/07

Meanwhile, smack dab in the middle of the future site of the Lost Forest Hot Topic, Homer the friendly construction worker is about to take a stand to protect some baby ducks from the ravenous jaws of your so-called “progress.” It should come as no surprise that our duck-loving bulldozer operator is clean-shaven, while the stench of evil rising from his coworker is as thick as his no doubt matted beard. Fortunately, Mark Trail will soon be on the scene to explain what he learned from Sam Hill: once the developers finish draining the wetlands, birds won’t want to lay their eggs there anymore, and the problem is solved!

Momma, 8/22/07

The following sentence is one that I never, ever wanted to write, but I suppose in retrospect it was inevitable, so here goes: The frank sexuality in today’s Momma is deeply disturbing to me. It’s already been implied that Francis fancies himself a ladies man, much to Momma’s disgust. Presumably she assumes (no doubt with good reason) that Francis’s inability to hold down gainful employment probably indicates that he’s unable to operate a prophylactic, and that she has dozens of bastard grandchildren all over town. You’d think she’d be a little excited about the prospect: grandkids are usually idée fixe #1 of the Mommas of the world; she’s got none to brag about down at the senior center, other than little Chucky, who hasn’t appeared since his fateful trip to the bar with Francis, when he was presumably traded for beer.

They’ll Do It Every Time, 8/22/07

I’m not going to touch the political content of today’s TDIET (“Public education: A necessary institution in an equitable society, or an insatiable money pit?”). Instead, I’m going to outline the lottery-themed TDIET I’d like to see:

Governor Honcho calls a press conference to crow when he busts up Vito’s little numbers racket…

(“Step right in, gentlemen! Why not put a bit of scratch on 17 red? Only 35-to-1 odds! You could … aw, cheese it! The fuzz!”)

…but then who d’ya see on TV trying to get you to put a buck on the Big Payoff Lottery Scratch-Off? Do you have to ask? I don’t think so!

(“Million-to-one odds … and you could be that one! Why not cash your Social Security check to buy more? Every dime goes to education! Etc … etc …”)

Apartment 3-G, 8/22/07

OK, now they’re just fucking with us, with the hair.