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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.

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Slylock Fox, 5/4/08

Hey, look, everybody! Cassanda Cat’s back up to her naughty tricks again! The crimes perpetrated in Slylock Fox are generally pretty small-time, but stealing a jar full of pennies from a rabbit seems particularly petty, the sort of thing one might do just to mess with someone, or perhaps to attract the attention of a certain law enforcement officer. The fact that she’s just dumping her ill-gotten gains into a well brings her contempt for the stolen property into nice focus.

(And hey! Don’t forget that you can buy Cassandra Cat stuff from the Comics Curmudgeon store!)

I also think the picture up top, with the cat and dog tending the poor toothachy kid, is very sweet. (Note: Domestic pets are not a substitute for professional dental care.)

Panel from Luann, 5/4/08

Today we learn that Luann’s dad has the same sweet little pet nickname for her mom that the British had for the Germans during World War I. I’m sure when they get amorous, she puts on one of those helmets with the big spikes on top and he begs her to “execute the Schlieffen Plan,” if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/4/08

“Hello, we’re the creative team behind Rex Morgan, M.D.! It’s come to our attention that some of you find action-packed plots about blackmail, escaped prisoners, and flesh-eating bacteria to be ‘boring’! Well, what if you were able to enjoy those same plots … but they involved sexy people in their underwear? America, get ready for Rex Morgan, M.N.! The ‘M.N.’ stands for ‘mostly naked!'”

Panel from Apartment 3-G, 5/4/08

Lately, the Sunday Apartment 3-G strips have been even more obvious rehashes of the previous week than usual, leaving me virtually no reason to ever comment on them. This panel from today’s installment caught my eye, however, when you consider its parallel from Saturday’s strip:

It’s very sad that a clean-living young man such as myself has to lecture the comics industry on this point, but: DRUG LINGO IS NOT INTERCHANGEABLE. Also, it has evolved somewhat since 1953. Please do a minimum amount of Internet research before attempting to deploy “street” talk in your comic. You’ll be glad you did.

For Better Or For Worse, 5/4/08

Ha! It’s funny because Michael hates his children, and hopes that if he ignores them they’ll go away! The second and third panels of the second row are particularly instructive; I defy you to find anyone, even among touch-typists, who types with their eyes closed. He’s obviously just hammering away at the keyboard churning out nonsense to drown out his daughter’s desperate pleas for attention.