Post Content

Dick Tracy, 7/5/06

I’m beginning to suspect that this Dick Tracy storyline is an extended apologia for the NSA’s warrantless wiretapping program; thus, it’s somewhat ironic that it brought up the subject of the U.S.’s secret monitoring of terrorist financial activities weeks before the New York Times did. Still, one begins to see their point: if our terrorists enemies are as dumb as Al Kinda here — who, while sitting in his Washington, D.C., office, changed from Western clothes into some sort of costume from a touring dinner-theater production of Sinbad the Sailor, and then greeted the entire al Qaeda network by name on his enormous wireless phone — then they probably won’t be smart enough to realize that they’re being spied on until they read about it in the liberal media.

Shoe, 7/5/06

Speaking of morons dressed in ridiculous outfits, here’s today’s Shoe. I have to admit that I’m charmed by the idea of some kind of Shakespearean method actor who refuses to change out of his costume, ever. Apparently, despite the fact that the vast majority of stage productions in this country feature contemporary characters dressed in essentially street clothes, the artist felt most Americans would fail to recognize Ye Olde Birde as an actor without this faux-Elizabethan getup, even though he utters the words “my” and “play” (in that order) in the first panel. This is a troubling assumption, but, sadly, it’s probably a safe one.

Mary Worth, 7/5/06

Ooh! Ooh! Mary Worth is being stalked! Mary Worth is being stalked! By, apparently, the world’s dumbest stalker, who appears to be standing approximately fifteen feet away from her and thinking, “Nobody can see me! Why, that branch is barely three feet above my head! I’M INVISIBLE! MOO HA HA HA!”

Oh, and: mustache, light hair — is our sinister fellow erstwhile Dawn Weston paramour/effette intellectual snob/violent rage addict Woody Hills? Dare to dream!

Slylock Fox, 7/5/06

I’m less interested in these so-called “facts” about peanut butter (no doubt supplied, along with a generous honorarium, out the deep pockets of the American Peanut Butter and Peanut Products Council) and more in the little tableau that accompanies them. From the look on the face of the groovy, hippie headbanded chick, she’s about to hit her breaking point. I’ll bet when she visualized her future as a young girl, it didn’t include dealing with a couple of buck-toothed freaks (are they brothers? father and son?) fighting over a condiment while she cleaned up after them. All I can say to Greedy McSandwicheater is that he’d better clean up those globs of peanut butter he’s spilled on the table, because that knife is temptingly close to his throat.

Post Content

Mary Worth, 6/30/06

You’d think that with all the years he’s spent trying to get into Mary’s comfortable slacks, Jeff would be better at translating Passive-Aggresive into English by now. Clearly, when it comes out of the mouth of someone who views going downtown as some sort of journey into the heart of darkness, the phrase “I wish I could join you on your trip” really means “Thank God I’m not going with you to whatever cholera-ridden Oriental hellhole you’ve decided to throw your life away in.” When a childless retiree who has nothing better to do than meddle in the extremely piddling affairs of others tells a doctor who’s taking time off from his lucrative practice to help children in Cambodia that she has “responsibilities,” that’s just cold.

I’m not sure where exactly Mary and Jeff are driving around having this little chat, but clearly the first “responsibility” that Mary has to attend to is to convince the youth of Santa Royale to stop growing little beatnik beards and tuck their damn shirts in.

Crankshaft, 6/30/06

Meanwhile, Crankshaft appears to be about death and farting.

Sally Forth, 6/30/06

Sally Forth is blatantly about hot, hot hammock sex.

Mark Trail, 6/30/06

And in Mark Trail, somebody’s about to get eaten by a bear. Why is it that I find this hilarious in Mark Trail but not in Gasoline Alley? I dunno, man, but I sure do.

Post Content

Mary Worth, 6/28/06

I must admit that I’m a little puzzled about what might not “go well” and extend Dr. Jeff’s stay in Cambodia. Is he concerned that three months might not be enough time to repair every cleft palate in the country? Is he worried that one of the 152 heroin-filled condoms he plans to swallow is going to burst while he’s in the air? Does he think his charisma might be so overwhelming that he’ll inevitably become the head of an apocalyptic rebel movement that worships him as a god? Is “Cambodia” a code word for “the next town over, after I’ve done the painstaking work of changing my identity?”

In her grief, Mary has joined the “people who stab themselves in the throat with off-colored food-style substances” club.

Apartment 3-G, 6/28/06

This, on the other hand, makes total sense. Hey, Tommie and Lu Ann, you wanna know why this site has a “Finger Quotin’ Margo” contest and not a “Head Bobblin’ Lu Ann and Tommie” contest? You wanna know why you’re losers and Margo’s a winner? This is why. Seeing Margo utter the phrase “parading her hottie boyfriend” is like having a present you’d wanted all your life, but not realizing how much you needed it until you received it. In all the excitement of rubbing her roommate’s faces in things, you can understand why she’s neglected her morning hair dying. That’s OK, Margo; the salt-and-pepper look becomes you.

Speaking of the Finger Quotin’ Margo contest … I fear I must confess that I’m having a very busy week, work-wise and otherwise, and can’t dedicate the psychic energy required to really judge effectively, so look for the contest’s resolution early next week. Honest. But in the mean time, here’s some stuff to entertain you. Faithful reader Kaycee sent me one of the most awesome objects ever put together with stuff purchased at the dollar store: the Finger Quotin’ Margo Action Figure!

Note the strings, which you can use for true finger-quotin’ action. Also note the hooker boots.

“Josh,” you might be saying, “I think your stalling makes you lame, but I guess I can’t make you come up with a winner on my schedule. But still, I’ve got a yen to compete! What sort of contest-y things can I get involved in?”

Well, I’m glad you asked. First off, if it’s lookalike contests you crave, why not head over to Drink At Work’s Medium Large Guy Lookalike Contest? It won’t make much sense if you don’t already read the stellar Medium Large Web comic, but you really ought to be doing that anyway, as it’s been on fire lately. Thrill to the adventures of Victorian-Era Superhero (the summer replacement for Teenage Girl President), check out T.O.D.D.’s special brand of whimsy, and peek behind the scenes at new character development. You’ll be glad you did!

The next option is a bright idea from commentor Fred P., and I can’t say it any better than him:

Well, I’m sure we may be all — I know I am! — suffering from the early whiplash symptoms of contest-o-mania after the whirlwind of excitement, heat and flash that was the FQ’nML-A-L Contest, but I sure got my sporting blood flowing. So allow me to humbly suggest one more competition. Now, we can’t impose upon Josh the burden of adjudicating, because he has already taken on the unenviable task of choosing between a field of such staggering perfection that my mind, for one, is truly boggled. So, why not have the brain trust at, say, chiefplugr@aol.com be our next judge? What I am proposing, ladies and gentlemen, is a race. A race to see which of us will be the first to have a submission featured in either TDIET or Pluggers! So make up some preposterous nincompoopery now! Submit early! Submit often! Remember, you have nothing to lose. And if you win, you will revel in eternal glory! Eternal that is until next Thursday, when the recyclers pick the old newspapers up. Oh yeah!

Good luck — and Godspeed!

(And on that note, I might direct your attention to “Crap Every Time, a new blog dedicated to mocking TDIET full-time. All I can say is that I admire the dedication and personal sacrifice required.)