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Gosh darn it, those Sunday strips are so big! With my feeble attention span, I could only focus on these small bits of them:

Panel from Mark Trail, 6/8/08

Hmm, there were 50,000 grizzlies in North America, but now there are about 1,200 … plus another 30,000 in Alaska? Apparently the Russians, not satisfied with merely reversing the political consequences of the Alaska Purchase, are secretly in the midst of building a canal down the Alaska-Canada border and using the resulting dirt to fill in the Bering Strait, thus making the grizzy-rich Seward’s Icebox a part of Asia! Mark Trail’s gonna have to punch a lot of Russkies to stop this.

Panels from Shoe, 6/8/08

The philosophical implications of Roz’s first statement here — “I hate time” — sort of boggle my mind. Does she hate time as an abstract concept? Does she wish that everything happened at once? Is she actually opposed to entropy, which scientists call “time’s arrow”? These intellectual musings serve to distract you from her statement in the second panel, which, given that Shoe takes place in an all-bird milieu, we must take quite literally: Roz has horribly mutilated one of her fellow avians and is wearing its feet as some kind of grisly trophy. Her “somewhere” implies that she doesn’t even know the whereabouts of her hapless victim, implying that she committed her ghastly crime in a fugue state — so perhaps it’s “lost time” that she really has a beef with.

Panel from Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/8/08

Speaking of philosophical dilemmas, Rex is about to find out just how hard it is prove a negative. “See, here’s my ID, which says, ‘Rex Morgan, M.D., a doctor, and totally 100 percent not a cop.'”

Panel from Family Circus, 6/8/08

Ha ha! Jeffy is terrifying his little brother with some kind of horrific demon mask! Oh, it’s all fun and games until Daddy finds out he’s been poking around in the Ritual Room again.

Panel from Slylock Fox, 6/8/08

“She is convinced that Shady Shrew is the nut-grabber.” Oh, well played, sir.

UPDATE: Oops, that’s actually “nut-nabber.” Curse you, tiny type and failing eyes! I like my version better anyway.

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Apartment 3-G, 6/6/08

Reasons why Margo might have the Wedding March set as her phone’s ringtone:

• She’s read the The Secret and now believes she can make a marriage proposal happen by sheer force of will; thus, she surrounds herself with wedding-related media at all times.
• That ringtone indicates a phone call from her hapless assistant Sam, who’s been left in charge of her now largely forgotten wedding planning business. He’s probably calling for help about yet another peacock-related disaster.
• That ringtone’s been assigned to Eric, about whom Margo finally stopped caring about five minutes ago. He’s using his satellite phone to make his one phone call from the police station allowed by Chinese law before he has his organs harvested, but Margo’s decided to fall for Jack’s brushcut charms instead.

(By the way, that strip with Sam in it that I linked to above is more than a year old, and Margo is already boasting about her imminent engagement! So sad, so sad.)

Mary Worth, 6/6/08

“That’s right, Mary! Now that my mother’s literal dead weight is no longer holding me back, I’m someone of stature and consequence in this town! That woman in the hideously patterned shirt … that intellectual snob, out reading in public … why, I could have either of them thrown in jail, their lives destroyed, as easy I can clench my right fist, like so! I’ll be ordering you the house Chianti at La Rosa, but I won’t be drinking any; I’m already drunk with power!”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 6/6/08

“No way, man! You’ll pry my filthy, soiled wrestling mats from my cold, dead, MRSA-infected hands!”

Slylock Fox, 6/6/08

Cowboy one is out of his mind on mescaline; cowboy three is taking a “spirit journey” thanks to peyote; cowboys two and four are tweaking on good, old-fashioned meth.

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Slylock Fox, 5/25/08

At last, Count Weirdly has hit upon a sinister plan that’s actually sinister, not just irritating: dropping Max and a bevy of decoy robo-Maxes out of the bomb bay of his WeirdlyJet! I don’t even want to imagine the dumber-vs.-dumbest adventure that must have led up to Max’s capture. Fortunately, Weirdly has forgotten the tails on his Maxdroids, because otherwise they are identical to the real thing in every respect — including their no doubt helpless mewling as they plummet to their deaths, and bowler hats that remain firmly in place, in violation of the laws of physics.

The sickest part, for me, is the vulture sitting on the WeirdlyJet’s nose, presumably waiting for Max to hit the ground with a splat so he can enjoy some lunch.

Meanwhile, over in the Six Differences, I like the happy expression on the frog’s face, as he silently salutes his crocodile brother, striking a blow for cold-blooded creatures against their mammalian oppressors.

Blondie, 5/25/08

I’m kind of charmed by Dagwood’s terrified retreat that finally leaves him standing in the empty bathtub, his last place of refuge (occasional incursions from his boss notwithstanding). I also like the fact that Daisy has followed the bickering couple upstairs, wearing a terrified expression that says “Why are male-person-who-feeds-me and female-person-who-feeds-me fighting? Why? Will this affect the frequency with which I’m fed?”

Dennis the Menace, 5/25/08

Gee, when it comes to questions about his past military service, Mr. Wilson seems to be protesting a little too much, complete with his trademarked creepy single bead of sweat. Is it possible that this whole “flat feet” story is just a front (after all, he did walk a mail route for thirty years) and that George Wilson was just too much of a coward to fight the Nazis/the Hun/the Spanish Menace/however the hell old he’s supposed to be?

Sally Forth, 5/25/08

My, the shape of Ted’s squirt gun certainly is … suggestive.