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First, on Friday I got a mysterious box in the mail. What could it be? A bomb? A container of anthrax? None of these, it turned out! Instead, it was fabulous commemorative Family Circus plate from faithful reader Krazy Kat!

The lovable Keane Kids are rolling around in the leftover detritus of an orgy of Christmas consumption, while their parents are passed out exhausted on the couch, hoping that at least one of them will choke to death on a small toy part so that there’ll be less shopping to do next year. Thanks, Krazy Kat!

(By the way, does anyone know if you can actually eat off these commemorative plate dealies? I’ve heard a rumor that the paint on them is often lead or something equally unpleasant.)

Also! Faithful reader Harold, maker of several fonts, has developed one based on the lettering of former Gil Thorp artist Frank McLaughlin! Behold, Ohmigosh! Perhaps the new artist can swap it in for Comic Sans? It can be yours for a mere $30!

Also also! Faithful reader KT has completed his Comics Curmudgeon Get-Together cartoon diary. There are photos too!

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Phantom, 5/3/08

Could the JUNGLE PATROL’s longstanding no-yucky-girls-allowed policy have been based on sound policy, not mere prejudice? The men of the Jungle Patrol have for centuries cheerfully taken orders without question from a mysterious figure that they never see and who may not even exist; but these two dames have been Jungle Patrolpersons for less than a week and they’re already determined to suss out his identity — not because they find the idea of a faceless, nameless superior officer creepy and weird, of course, but because they want to have sex with him. Kay and Hawa have been yammering on in this vein for several days now, and I’ve been wondering how their tight-knit friendship would survive when the Unknown Commander has to choose only one of them to be his Unknown Commandress, but today we learn that obviously the choice will be based on racial grounds. It’s too bad the real U.C. isn’t Chinese or something, just because it would be fun to watch that blow their minds.

Apartment 3-G, 5/3/08

Thanks to the glory and pageantry of NetFlix, my wife and I tore through all five seasons of The Wire a few months ago, but this Apartment 3-G makes me realize that I still don’t fully understand the economics of the drug trade. Will Jones be pleased when he realizes that Alan is redistributing his dope, happy to move up the ladder from street-level dealer to wholesaler? Or will he conclude that the profits Alan is reaping by selling smack to desperate floozies are rightfully his own, and decide to shoot the hapless artist in the back of the head and leave his body to rot in a vacant somewhere?

The stakes would be much higher if everyone involved weren’t morons. I love Jones’s rapt expression in panel two. “Whoah — that’ll buy a lotta dope! Now where I could I find some … oh, wait, I have some right here! Turns out I don’t need your money after all, Alan.”

Dick Tracy, 5/3/08

Dick Tracy’s contempt for Deformed-Americans has never been more obvious. Hey, Liz, your “knight in shining armor” lost his gun, then stood around aimlessly in that shining armor until somebody else shot the bad guy. Your real savior was Dab Stract, who has the added bonus of not being married (I’m assuming). Go on, plant a wet one his lumpy, malformed cheek. He’s earned it!

Gasoline Alley, 5/3/08

His two-timing having been revealed to the congregation, Sturdivant is about to be dragged out of the church by the bride’s hobo relatives and stabbed to death, or possibly sodomized. Score another one for good ol’ fashioned frontier justice!

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Gil Thorp, 5/2/08

Sorry I haven’t been covering the Very Special Story of Elmer Vargas the Accidental Illegal Immigrant, but turns out it’s kind of boring! Elmer has lived in America since he was six months old, so he’s thoroughly acclimated to the culture; this is why he invokes TV as a totem to protect him, since he knows Americans love it before all else. Still, I fear that we’re going to see the Vargases deported just in time for Cinco de Mayo next week, possibly at the behest of the blonde-haired uber-Aryan in panel three. Is that Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp? I’d say I can’t tell yet who people are with the new artist, but honestly I had a hard time with the old artist too.

Pluggers, 5/2/08

What’s the saddest possible interpretation of this panel?

• Pluggers is a shameless sell-out, willing to take cash from any fast food restaurant chain willing to throw money their way.
• Pluggers is too dumb to sell out, and is just throwing in names for color because it can’t conceive of a world not completely defined by the omnipresent branding of multinational corporations.
• This family of pluggers will drive directly from KFC to visit their friend the chicken-lady while still gnawing on the bones of her slaughtered kin.

Mary Worth, 5/2/08

I’m not sure what exactly Ron is holding in the second panel, but I sincerely hope it’s his mother’s soiled bedpan, and he’s about to brain his brother with it.