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Mary Worth, 7/10/08

Now that Mary’s been dumped, she’s taken off the alluring maroon one-piece belted number she was wearing as part of her seduction strategy, and changed into her lounging clothes, which apparently consist of t-shirts she scrounged from the “Lost and Found” box down at the cruise ship terminal in 1985. The shirt’s unnatural inky blackness should easily mask any butter stains as our jilted biddy eats her seafood scampi with her hands right out of the microwaveable plastic tray while standing over the sink. But will the hot pink island scene be dulled by her tears?

Cleats, 7/10/08

I don’t really talk about Cleats very often, because it resides in that netherworld of “generally not interesting enough to make fun of on my blog, but not actively offensive enough for me to go through the trouble of removing it from my Chronicle custom comics page.” This week’s strips have consisted of typical dull-ish whimsy, about a soccer ball that’s getting a little too warm after being left out on the sunny field during half time — until today, when we’re presented with the horrific image of an inanimate object somehow imbued not just with the power of thought, but also with the biological urges to eat and drink, and yet lacking any of the anatomical equipment needed to meet those needs. I can think of no crueler punishment that a sadistic creator could dish out.

Apartment 3-G, 7/10/08

Alan is turning out to be an even more delightfully incompetent drug dealer than any of us could have hoped. Over the past few weeks, he’s repeatedly violated such well-established Drug Dealer Rules as “Don’t smoke your product,” “Don’t smoke your product with your customers,” “Don’t use your straight job as a drug-dealing den,” and “Don’t let your crackhead customers hang around your straight job smoking crack when there’s a perfectly good alley out back.”

Ray, meanwhile, is showing the lethargic semi-consciousness that’s all too typical of users of depressant drugs like crack cocaine. However, even in Ray’s crack-numbed state, faithful reader Shandyowl recognizes something in the young man: himself. “I have been joking with my friends that Alan using his paycheck to buy some sort of generic non-specific narcotic is based on me and today I find that I am guesting in the strip!” Behold the uncanny resemblance:

“If only I were at home — I would have access to pictures where I am
actually wearing a yellow t-shirt, darn it!” he says.

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Ziggy and Blondie, 7/9/08

I’m not sure which of these two diner-themed comics is more unsettling. Most of the kids today are wholly unfamiliar with castor oil, except as an abstract thing that characters in classic Warner Brothers cartoon are comically terrified of having forced upon them, so let me be the first to tell you that it’s a laxative. Is “Mom” implying that her meatloaf is essentially an enormous colon plug, and that Ziggy’s GI tract thus needs to be prepared if he wants to survive the experience of eating it? Or is she just maternally handing out folk remedies that don’t meet FDA approval to total strangers, seeing as her children have cut off contact with her as a result of their emotionally-scarring diarrhea-plagued childhood?

An even more sinister possibility: in fascist Italy, paramilitaries would often force-feed castor oil to political dissidents as a means of intimidation, so it’s possible that Mom is a war criminal on the run.

Blondie is somewhat more straightforward, as amoral food addict Dagwood looks eager to devour the hashed up remains of some poor hobo.

Mary Worth, 7/9/08

See how easy it is to break up with someone when you don’t know how to feel? Dr. Jeff “Emo” Corey, take note.

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OK, we’ll get to the COTW and runners-up momentarily, but first, several items of interest.

First! You may remember some days back that Uncle Lumpy posted a link to an honest-to-god real recording of “Tarzana Nights” by Kalamazoo-based songsters/madmen the New Real People. But today I am authorized to actually show you a picture of the recording session in progress (taken by faithful reader Jules), which I guarantee will blow your minds:

I would have loved to have seen the look on the face of the hapless Kinko’s employee who was handed the infamous “Ease up, friend” strip and told to blow it up to such gargantuan proportions. Remember, you can relive the magic on the New Real People’s Web site.

Speaking of Gil Thorp insanity, did you know that there’s now an official, authorized-by-the-syndicate Gil Thorp Facebook group? You young people who use the Facebook should totally join. I got the tip from the brilliant This Week In Milford blog, your source for all things Thorpian, which, naturally, also has a Facebook group. (As do I! Goodness gracious, with the technology!)

Also! I have received another adorable picture of a child wearing Comics Curmudgeon gear, in this case a Fist o’ Justice shirt. That’s little Lee, son of faithful reader Robert:

“He so does like to punch stuff!” says Robert of his four-week-old son.

Also! Faithful reader ChattyGenes posted an Aldomania ditty that you might enjoy.

And finally, at long last, brace yourself for the COMMENT OF THE WEEK!

“Mary Worth wears Depends with Snoopy’s picture on them, and the slogan ‘Happiness is a Warm Poopy.'” –The Spectacular Spider-Brick

(That’s a reference to this horror, if you’re confused.)

It was a hard choice this week, as the runners-up are also hilarious:

“I hate Curtis. I hate Curtis’ hat. Dear lord, how I hate that hat.” –Sully

“What Mr. Abner needs is a puppy!” –blueberrygrrrl

“Gosh, I remember when I was in marching band in the suburbs of Cleveland and cut out every single comic making fun of Wally playing the trombone, because gosh-dang it, I played the trombone, and it made me so happy to know that the comics pages reflected me — a Northeastern Ohio high schooler playing trombone on a muddy football field for a losing football team in the snow. Somewhere in Northeastern Ohio, an angry, cantankerous, cancerous former pizza store owner is cutting out today’s strip and proudly taping it on his refrigerator.” –Sunny Paris

“Let’s see … Dolly badly botching the lyrics to a song that only elderly people are likely to know, ending up in a malapropism. That’s it! Dolly is starting her Crankshaft training.” –Mibbitmaker

“Jack, meanwhile, clearly doesn’t know Margo very well at all. ‘Help you? Yeah, look, unless her sweater’s green because it’s actually made of money, I’m going to deal with the paintings here, thanks. Don’t let our flirtation make you think I have any interest in real human compassion — you want that crap, see if Alan will rent you Lu Ann for the hour.'” –Windier E. Megatons

“Before we enquire into Dolly’s rationale for singing boardwalk songs on Independence Day, perhaps we should determine the alcoholic content of whatever she has in that bucket.” –odinthor

“If Gabriella faints at ‘the presence of evil’ anyplace where low-level drug dealing and bad art occurs, how can she even enter lower Manhattan without immediately slipping into a coma?” –Hank

“I can’t wait for the bridezilla’ing to start. And the single malt. We’re gonna need it.” –Islamorada Girl

“Liz looks like the doll off the top of the music box, only about 10000 times more smug and entitled. ‘I did it! I finally did it! I fulfilled everyone’s expectations! Now I never have to think about anything ever again! Go me!'” –Shoebox

“Please let that be the plastic bag from the dry cleaners that Grandma Marion is preparing to clamp over Liz’s smug head. ‘Wear MY dress to marry a divorced man?! I’ll smother you first!'” –Stroker Ace

“Deanna has a pretty dreamy look as she cops a feel on Lizardbreath. Almost as if she finally has found a way to have sex with a Patterson.” –Lockestep

“What [Margo’in] reason would the Santa Royale city council have for calling two emergency meetings, two evenings in a row? More complaints about the old people smell? They’re never going to get rid of that.” –PeteMoss

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