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Apartment 3-G, 7/21/05

So, when Lu Ann first spotted this dreamy hunk of selfless billionaire through a glass windowpane, this is what I had to say about it:

Instead, though, it looks like we’re going to have to sit through eight and a half boring weeks of a boring boring storyline about Lu Ann’s boring boring boring love life.

Well, here we are, eight and half boring weeks later, and the strip is just sitting here like a pile of something too boring to even bother describing. It’s just been one nonstop boring date after another, and since Scott is so gosh darn nice to everybody and Lu Ann won’t put out, there’s no possibility of anything interesting happening ever. If this storyline were any more boring, just reading it would cause you to go back in time. In fact, as you can see here, even the coloring sweatshop workers are bored … unless we’re expected to believe that Scott decided to wear a flesh-colored polo shirt for hanging around in Lu Ann’s flesh-colored kitchen. Maybe it’s some kind of camouflage so that he can sneak up on her and cop a feel, since that’s clearly the only action he’s going to be getting.

And speaking of boring…

Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/21/05

We’ve already seen that the Morgans, despite their fancy medical educations, are stupider than both a “rescue” dog and a bumpkin who’s so backwoods that he uses meat as a medium of exchange instead of U.S. currency. Now we learn that they’re also dumber than their own day-care age daughter, who’s apparently started talking like a snarky adult at some point during this interminable storyline.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/16/05

“I told you, boy! I told you! I told you that if you tried to go into some kind of pansy-ass line of work like ahr-kee-ology that someone would try to beat you to death with a fence post!”

Seriously, I’m not sure what makes a profession “manly,” but if it puts you in a position where you might be bludgeoned to death, well, that seems pretty damn butch to me. Of course, I’m sure that’s just the sort of fancy-pants graduate school logic that would enrage Pater Foxworth all the more.

Also: It’s been covered already by you witty commentators, but I feel obligated to share this bizarre Gil Thorp panel with the masses:

Note to high school baseball coaches who use images of the Virgin Mary as pitchers: if your icon of the Holy Mother of God begins to sweat and/or weep blood, it’s time to bring in a reliever. May we suggest St. James the Just? Or Coleman. Whatever.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/2/05

They can gussy it up with the fancy camera angles, but this supposedly tense confrontation scene would be a lot tenser if its antagonists were anyone other than these two clowns. Royal’s epic combover only thinly disguises the fact that his face is clearly modeled on Peter Lorre, which means that I can’t help but think that his voice is modeled on Peter Lorre, which means that I find everything he says hilarious. Peter Lorre could be forcing me to dig my own grave at gunpoint and I would find his voice funny. “Oh, hurry up, you! Stop laughing and keep deeging!”

Dr. Hamilton, meanwhile, apparently decided that the best thing to wear for his face-off with evil would be his grandpa-style fishin’ hat. Frankly, I’m beginning to think that Fence Post Frank is off the hook for this heinous crime: surely if some soft-handed fancy pants like Royal Gilstrap tried to retain his skull-bashing services, he’d be too busy laughing at his funny voice to seal the deal.

Earlier this week, Dr. Hamilton threatened to “destroy” Royal if the latter had anything to do with Buck’s comatose state. Hey, Professor, if you had managed to snag a few grand worth of funding for the young man, maybe he wouldn’t have to whore himself out to the artifact-trading underworld to keep himself in hoodies and stubble mascara. Just a thought.