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Marvin, 12/17/11

I have to admit that I’ve always been a little intrigued by the fact that dogs have amazing intraspecies size variations, and I’ve always kind of wondered what this means for their sex lives. I don’t really like being forced to confront the notion visually in the comics, though. Given the extent to which Junior’s new love interest towers over him, her studded leather collar and the black hearts floating over her head seem disturbingly significant.

Mark Trail, 12/17/11

Ha ha, Kelly, Honey the bear took you to the Parents McQueens’ underground bear-sex lair! This will make a good story for some magazine, though perhaps not the one Kelly intended to sell it to. She can explain what “gold mining” is a euphemism for.

Phantom, 12/17/11

Meanwhile, the Phantom is sending Ernesto’s wife into an epistemological crisis. “Believe nothing? Not even the evidence of my own senses?”

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A sad note here before we launch into this week’s top comments: Eduardo Barreto, who took over the Judge Parker art duties from original artist Harold LeDoux, has passed away. His tenure at Judge Parker was cut short when he contracted meningitis a few years ago, and (unconfirmed) word is that his death was from complications from that disease. He had a fairly extensive comic book background, but to me he’ll always be the man who transformed Judge Parker from an odd-looking relic into a strip about hilarious sexy people doing hilariously boring things — and he got the better end of that team-up. Thanks, Eduardo.

And now, your comment of the week!

“A rolodex? Fancy elitist animal monsters! In my day we just scrawled the names of friends into the wall behind our letter-writin’ desks.” –bunivasal

And your runners up! Very funny!

“Dick Tracy puts a cunning plan into motion to learn the identity of his assailent. He waits until some bullets whistle past, then compares the grouping against his database of ‘Accuracy of Malformed Villain Attempts to Kill Dick Tracy’ (AMVAKDT). ‘Amateur’, he mutters, as he crafts a crude but gruesome death trap out of studio lights and gaffer tape.” –Lesser Whark

“If you’re like me — and I hope you’re not — you probably read that last panel as foreshadowing that Aunt May’s dessert would cause a gastrointestinal calamity to such a degree as could only be labeled ‘THUNDER OVER ASGARD!'” –Chareth Cutestory

“Pack of vicious eeevil wolves? Thousand-pound bear on the defensive? Mark Trail demands more carnage! Send in the housepets!” –Nate

“WTF is going on with Mary’s left hand in panel 2? Is she supposed to be whispering behind her hand? (If so, her hand is in the wrong place.) Is she pantomiming ‘phone’ because Bree’s not very bright? (If so, her hand is in the wrong place.) Is she trying to keep her brain from exploding and squirting out her ear? In that case, her hand might be in the right place.” –wossname

“The inter-species marriages have another impact on plugger mortality rates: diet. This can take several forms. Normally the carnivore-spouse attacks the herbivore spouse, eats her and then–because there is no one around to do the Heimlich maneuver–chokes to death on her bones. Marriages between competing species of herbivores are less dramatic in their lethality, but when it comes down to a grass versus grain diet, or leaves versus roots, usually one spouse crowds out the other out of the ecosystem, resulting in a slow death from starvation. Of course, when one spouse is an egg-layer death genarlly comes by spatula or skillet after the husband asks the wife to cook more of her own eggs. Pluggers do not believe in any form of birth control.” –Droopy Says

RMMD: “You go take care of Kelly! I’ll continue to commit felony assault!” –Cloudbuster

“Oh, Dolly. It’s PJ. Of course you need to tell him why. You’ve spent, what, four decades telling PJ why. ‘Why does Mommy cry some afternoons and drink cooking sherry?’ and ‘Why does Daddy sometimes look longingly over the fourth wall at Ted Forth?’ and ‘Why do I keep hitting myself?’ are probably a representative sample of all the whys Dolly has had to tell PJ over the years.” –Lily Sincere

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B.C., 12/16/11

A “bachelor party,” when brought up within a modern pseudo-humorous narrative, is invariably a euphemism for tawdry, regrettable erotic escapades. (This is not always true in real life; I’m sure yours was classy and not at all actionable.) Thus, I’m going to go ahead and assume that the bachelor ant here is planning on saddling this grasshopper as a prelude to some gross inter-species insect sex stuff. Whatever, let him have his fun, ants are one of those species where the males die right after mating, right? I was going to look that up, but I’ve never liked the ant characters in B.C. so I’m just going to go ahead and assume that it’s true.

Crankshaft, 12/16/11

I’m not sure why, but I find the retreating back of our Christmas Tree proprietor deeply unnerving. Maybe it’s the look of genuine horror on Crankshaft’s granddaughters face. It seems like he’s slowly and deliberately going to fetch his ax, and then, as predicted, he’s going take his payment in limbs.