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Foob, everyone’s favorite made-up Canadian slang word, made an appearance in today’s FBOFW:

Of course, true comics devotees know that, unlike January’s now infamous made-up sex slang, foob has an origin that was actually depicted in the strip: it’s a portmanteau that April and her 4 Evah bandmates created by combining fool and boob. It’s a neologism that I find charming enough to overlook the fact that any modern-day 12-year-old would only use the word boob to refer to the part of the female anatomy of most interest to the artists at Blondie and Rex Morgan, M.D.

Anyway, the comics-reading public at large apparently does not remember this definition, and as a result, I knew that foob made an appearance in today’s strip before I even opened the paper. I got a mini-surge in traffic today that was almost entirely driven by people plugging foob into search engines in a desperate attempt to figure out what this crazy jibber-jabber in the comics pages was all about. Even now, at midnight, they’re still going at it, as you can see from this screenshot from my statistics site:

(Yes, yes, I know: one of these things is very much not like the others. And no, I don’t know how cricket figures into it either.)

Anyway, all this search engine talk made me realize that it’s been ages since I last posted some amusing search engine terms, so here’s some recent favorites: “family circus is not funny” (duh), “do you still love me as much as you used to hagar the horrible,” “baby moses bath cartoon” (this one keeps cropping up — can somebody explain it to me?), “site joshreads.com not funny” (hey!), “nude pictures of andy capp,” “how to make a character like beetle bailey and ziggy” (it’s not hard), “joshua fruhlinger birthday” (it’s July 17th, but I accept late presents as well as early ones), and, in an example of what I can only hope is someone using search engine terms to mess with my mind, “mary worth porn comics.”

This is as good an opportunity as any to share with those of you who don’t read the comments two excellent poetic efforts that have appeared there over the past few days. First off is this impressive sonnet from daChipster, whose heart ached for Anna’s barren state before today’s dramatic revelation:

As trees with blighted roots can bear no food
or those with buds untimely nipped by frost
So Anna cannot raise her Brian a brood
She might as well just keep her stockings crossed.

Enough already please quit with the cryin’
It doesn’t matter what you say or think
These ruminations by the Wife of Brian
Are just a waste of bad cartoonist’s ink

Why not adopt some orphan Asian child
With jet black hair and oddly-tinted skin
Or buy a kid from some gig that’s been wild
Like Tommy’s little roadside neice — Miss Mim

Whatever, just get over giving birth
‘Cause you’ve been cursed by that Witch, Mary Worth

Less highbrow, but just as satisfying, is fuzzmaster’s take on Becky’s internal monologue today, set to the tune of “We Will Rock You”:

Foob-foob-hottie; foob-foob-hottie
Lady you’re a gig make a big noise
Playin’ in the street gonna be a grade 12 some day
Hangin’ high on yo’ case
You big disgrace
Hands-on, been there all over the place
You are you are roadside!
You are you are roadside!

Finally, after my recent cutting, classist comments about the relationship between working men and professional women, I feel compelled to relay the details of a brush with the proletariat I had toady. We woke up this morning to find that our hot water heater had at last given up the ghost and was leaking water all over the basement. Since my fiancée’s typical workday involves crazy stuff like “putting on clothes” and “leaving the house,” I was left to deal with the domestic crisis. By noon, I had secured the services of a father-son team of hot-water-heater experts, who, while showing no evidence of tooth loss, did manage to present me with a Fence Post Frank-style horrifyingly large bill. Anyway, after the new, non-leaky heater was installed, the older of the two gentlemen informed me that “you’ll have hot water again by the time the Mrs. gets home.” “I think you mean the Ms.,” I corrected him. After that, he just made a series of whipping noises, which I didn’t really grasp the significance of.

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When I was about 14, my mom urged to me to go down to the local mall because they were looking for teen models. Mortified, I locked myself in my room and didn’t come out for a year. But if I had only listened to her advice, I could be have become a supermodel, instead of wasting my time with distractions like “college” and whatnot. Don’t make the same mistake I did! Remember, if you are the proud owner of some Comics Curmudgeon gear, just photograph yourself wearing it and send the pic to me to join the rotating cast of models in the left-hand navbar. You could be the first to appear sporting a jaunty Fence Post Frank hat (after you become the first to buy one — you people are all talk).

The observant among you have already noted that we’ve added a new model to the mix: that’s the future Mrs. C.’s brother showing his Apartment 3-G pride. And hey, NYC-area ladies: he’s single! So if you’re living in an apartment in Manhattan with two adventure-loving roommates, he can add exciting new plotlines to your slow-moving life.

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When I first started this blog, I wasn’t sure if anyone other than my friends would read it, let alone comment on it. As the 100+ comment post below demonstrates, today the Comics Curmudgeon has a large and chatty readership. Though I rarely respond to the comments, I love reading all of them — they provide the ego-stroking that powers this blog, and are frequently funnier than anything I have to say.

This last does give rise to one side-effect, though: frequently, if I don’t get around to doing a comic for a day or two, someone will post something to the effect of “I sure hope Josh does Tuesday’s Wizard of Id” (or whatever) and then goes on to describe that strip’s horror in vivid detail. Generally speaking, if I don’t do that comic, it’s not because I’m ignoring you: it’s because you did such a good job commenting on it that I don’t have anything to add.

Take this past Sunday, for instance: I had originally planned to do Curtis, but then a dare in the comments section of an earlier post led faithful reader Saint Chree to record this dramatic reading, upon which nothing I can say could possibly improve. If your media player won’t play this audio file (it’s in Ogg Vorbis format), you can download Audacity for free for all major platforms. It’s sooooo worth it.