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So, throughout this whole Weblog Awards business, I’ve tried to take the high road, refusing to even acknowledge my competitors for the coveted Best Humor Blog award. I’m modeling my campaign on the greatest of American presidents, Warren G. Harding, who felt that traveling the country seeking votes was beneath his dignity, and instead just had voters shipped in to Ohio to watch him bloviate from his front porch (except I refuse to go out on my porch because it’s cold). However, as all campaigns will, this one has turned ugly, and now I’m going to have to dirty my hands a bit. It seems that one of my opponents, the so-called Bloggess, is spreading scurrilous rumors about me — namely, that I eat kittens and plan to celebrate my inevitable victory with a kitten feast. She’s even made a badge for those who won’t vote for her, and taken her dastardly lies to the Twitter, where I can’t fight back because I can’t even begin to understand the Twitter or how it works, but here’s a picture of those Twitter lies:

Anyway, I would like to state right now, for the record, that I would never, ever eat a kitten. I love all cats, as my own pampered kitty can attest. Instead, once my opposition has been crushed and the award that is rightfully mine has been handed to me, I will celebrate by eating babies.

Seriously, though, you should totally read her blog because it’s very hilarious! And please do not start a blog fight with her commentors! We can all be friends (as long as I win). And I’m not just saying that because she also writes for the Houston Chronicle and could maybe somehow cut me off from my custom comics page. Or because, according to the Twitter, she has naked pictures of me, somehow. And when you’re done enjoying her blog, come back and vote for me, which you can do every 24 hours. Because babies is delicious.

In other Weblog Awards news, Medium Large is, against all odds, within reach of third place in the Best Comic Strip category! Vote for Ces to get a bronze medal! It will help with his self-esteem!

IMPORTANT AD NEWS PLEASE READ THIS: In non-self-congratulatory news, I am about to restore the ads that I removed a couple of days ago. Please e-mail me if anything sketchy happens when you visit this site after this point (i.e. after 8:45 pm eastern time on 1/7) — pop-ups, weird redirects, etc. Thanks. UPDATE: Ads taken back down. Blech.

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Funky Winkerbean, 1/7/09

I have absolutely no idea why Becky the One-Armed Band Director looks so horrified in panel two when she thinks that Band Director Emeritus Harry Dinkle is about to launch into an impromptu lesson on preventing pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections. If one of my high school band practices had been interrupted by an old man rambling away on the subject (“Let me tell you the most important thing my CO told me before we hit the beach at Normandy: For God’s sake, put a rubber on it! That’s how I managed to screw my way through every French cathouse in every town we liberated without my pecker falling off!”), it would have been the best band practice ever; certainly it would have been a more useful and relevant use of our time than attempting to master yet another Andrew Lloyd Weber medley. I can only assume that, as a Funky Winkerbean authority figure, Becky is required to supervise a certain amount of misery in her charges; she’s afraid that Harry is going to head off that chlamydia epidemic that’s raging nicely through the woodwinds, along with a couple of unplanned pregnancies that she’s counting on in percussion.

Judge Parker, 1/7/09

It appears that Heidi the sexy, trigger-happy cop is going to make a final attempt on Sam’s bemused, detached charms, possibly in one of Phoenix Sky Harbor’s parking garages. You know, I’ve finally figured out what Judge Parker’s ladies-love-Sam plots remind me of: the classic Billy Wilder film The Seven Year Itch, in which the protagonist, left alone in his sweltering Manhattan apartment as his wife and son head to the country on vacation, entertains all manner of sexual fantasies about his comely neighbor Marilyn Monroe and other women — almost all of which involve him coldly rejecting them as they fling themselves at him. I remember thinking when I saw it that it was unspeakably perverse, but Sam is so dull that he sucks all the thrill out of it.

Slylock Fox, 1/7/09

4) If you see a supposed surgeon advancing on you in full clown makeup, I don’t care how sick you are, get the hell out of that hospital now. Answer: True, true, for the love of God, kid, run!

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Apartment 3-G, 1/6/09

Oh, Margo! Even when you’re busy snooping and destroying evidence all by yourself, you can’t help but indulge yourself in a little free-form bitchery. And that’s OK; you need to practice to keep yourself in fighting shape. But I question whether anyone wearing that vest/button-shirt combo — you’re one cameo away from being the cover girl for the next issue of Hot Western Schoolmarm Monthly — has a right to impugn the aesthetic choices of others. Admittedly, I’m not sure I’d have wanted something in my living room that was so … aqua, even before I married a woman with impeccable taste in interior design, but the larger problem is that the leather couch doesn’t scream “bachelor” so much as it screams “chair,” what with it being only wide enough for one person to sit on it and all. I know New York apartments are small, but still.

Family Circus, 1/6/09

I was planning on waxing pretentious about how this panel neatly encapsulates American middle class anxieties and explains both why we passed the PATRIOT Act and why we don’t let little kids play outside anymore, but then I realized that I should just relax and enjoy the sight of a couple Keane Kids in a moment of terror, right before they’re mauled by a vicious dog. It’s kind of impressive that they can still dish out the adorable puns even as they panic.

Phantom, 1/6/09

The Phantom plotline just concluded involved a madman attempting to use bats as biological weapons agents, only to eventually become infected with deadly Ebola himself, yet was so boring that I managed to not comment on it at all and could barely remember what it was without going back and checking. Thus, while an optimist might insist any plot that begins with horrible scaly fish-men from the briny sea must be promising, I have my doubts. I am amused by the fact that that these tailèd sea beasts are demurely wearing loincloths, to protect our innocent eyes from their hideous blue mer-penises.

ELECTION VICTORY UPDATE: Remember, you can vote once every 24 hours for this site in the 2008 Weblog Awards Best Humor Category! Yes, it’s true that I’m already pretty far ahead, but you should vote for me anyway because I desperately crave the sort of emotional validation that only a crushing victory over my enemies will bring. And you should also help Ces Marciuliano is his noble quest for fourth place in the Best Comic Strip Category.

SITE UNPLEASANTNESS UPDATE: As I noted yesterday, some readers (including yours truly!) have noted unpleasant redirects and pop-up ads when visiting this site. I’ve taken off the ads that might be the origin of the problem, but the evil may lurk elsewhere. If you have seen any of these nasties within the last 24 hours or so, please email me, or chime in in the comments.