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Gil Thorp, 12/3/07

“Yeah, we could probably test it at Tilden … by why not just keep failing spectacularly with the offense that was terrible before we stopped practicing it? Since we already have no chance to make the playdowns, there’s no point in having fun or trying hard in any of our remaining games. A healthy diet of humiliation will have our boys all the more eager to pull their half-assed Wing T trickery against Valley Tech!”

Meanwhile… Marty Moon suddenly realizes the free press’s obligation to challenge the Putinesque dictatorship of Coach Thorp’s athletic administration. Unfortunately, he’s eight weeks behind teenaged dim bulbs Howard and Tony in mining the Google for useful anti-Gil ammunition. Presumably old-school radio man Marty usually avoids the Web and has been waiting for this whole “Internet” fad to blow over, but recently discovered that you can buy booze there.

Apartment 3-G, 12/3/07

Dizziness … giddiness … elevated heart rate … shortness of breath … Nurse Thompson carefully reviewed the symptoms in her mind, thinking back to her medical training to try to come up with a correct diagnosis. Could it have been the one syndrome that wasn’t in her dusty textbooks: sexual arousal? Or maybe it was an asthma attack. Yes, that seemed more likely.

Funky Winkerbean, 12/3/07

That right there, if I’m guessing correctly, is Mopey Pete, erstwhile persecuted high school dork and comics artist, spurned by best friend Darrin when the latter started dating a hot girl. According to Funkywinkerbean.com, post-time-jump Pete is now a successful writer for Marvel Comics. For what purpose has he returned to WinkerLand? I imagine that he’s breathing in the heady smell of Montoni’s pizza before he walks into the restaurant and starts unloading ammunition into everyone who ever wronged him.

For Better Or For Worse, 12/3/07

“You sit over there, under daddy’s whore picture. That’s the whore chair. For whores like you.”

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Now that American Thanksgiving is over and order has been restored to the cycle of days, we must offer the typical Sunday COMMENT OF THE WEEK!

“Tell me, do you think Jeff’s allergic to dogs, or just allergic to having Mary Worth show him a dog’s junk? Because that second one seems like a good allergy to have.” –Trilobite

Plus: there are runners up, and they are also funny.

“Pluggers don’t realize that most VCRs will still only flash ’12:00′ over and over for eternity no matter when you plug them in. Then they blame the ‘Japs’ for making things so complicated. Then they complain that things aren’t made in America any more, so they break instantly instead of lasting through geological epochs. Then they hop in their Mexican-built Chevy and drive to Wal-Mart to ‘save a buck’ by buying Chinese sweatshop goods. Then they have bran.” –Mr. Coffee Nerves

“I think of TJ as more like Lucy Ricardo. Not quite as butch as Martha Stewart.” –FreshHell

“The woman’s look of sheer horror and disbelief leads me to believe that the only thing the three men plan to do is sing — loudly and off-key. She would much prefer a joint.” –Mariko

“That Lynn actually allowed a little zinger at Michael’s expense surprises me. Maybe I shouldn’t use ‘Michael’ and ‘little zinger’ in the same sentence. Ew.” –The Avocado Avenger

“Aside from the fact that Abbey’s complaints inspire absolutely no pity in me, it’s also just plain unbelievable that the ultimate power couple (the richest person in the area, married to the conniving politically-connected lawyer) could possibly be outmaneuvered politically by someone named Biff.” –jvwalt

“Mark Trail leaves me so confused that I almost want to care.” –Shlomo

“Where the hell are the flappers, A3G? If you’re going to throw cheesy dialog from the 20s like ‘tavern’ and ‘gang’ my way, I best be seein’ some flappers.” –King Folderol

“Um, Persuader? Can we persuade you not to wear a green sport coat and a tie with horizontal orange and black stripes? Please? Or is this part of your mighty powers of persuasion? ‘Okay! I’ll do whatever you want! You clash so horribly that it burns my eyes!’” –Inspector Dim

“I love the dazzling WASP-ness of the Apartment 3G characters. I mean, does anyone actually use the term ‘Irish charm’? ‘He’s one of those Irishmen, he touches girls sometimes, and may even wear a black sweater vest and a tie that does not match his suit. They really are a mystical people.'” –evie oh oh

“Just what can this uber-hip ‘tavern’ the A3G folks are meeting the ‘gang’ at be like, given that Neil and Gary will arrive in powder-blue sports jackets, Gina in a scalloped after-dinner-mint pantsuit, and Tommie resplendent with her lime blazer and buttoned-up ‘no-hickey’ dickey? No doubt, the coolest in Manhattan! I’m picturing a lot of girls with long cowl-neck sweaters that cover their behinds, with tights and leg-warmers; guys with broad-striped rugby shirts with wide white collars; sansabelt slacks galore, and everywhere you look: cardigans, cardigans, cardigans!” –Moon Mullins

“I’m thinking that Crock could start every strip for a year with ‘What’s wrong with Grossie?’ The first two strips could be ‘Her name’ and ‘The fact that I can’t even tell where her head is supposed to be.'” –Windier E. Megatons

“So yesterday, Andy the Big Dog had his own chair and place setting at the dinner table, and now he’s packing to come along and ‘help Johnny’. And where is Rusty while all this is going on? Oh, that’s right — Andy ate him.” –Mooncattie

Also, there are reader-submitted pictures! The first comes from faithful reader Saxman who wore his Margo!Boxcar!Saturn shirt “while fishing with a real life Mark Trail-ish fishing guide.”

Hopefully there were no duels to the death for your wilderness adventure patronage, Saxman.

Also, faithful reader James “Kibo” Parry (really!) took my description of the mayonnaise GLOM! from Friday’s Archie and made it much more real than any of us may be comfortable thinking about:

And hey, did somebody say “Let’s give thanks to our advertisers?” I think somebody may have.

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Apartment 3-G, 12/2/07

“I worked on my paintings there! And that’s the window where I watched the moon!! And this is the room where I spent thirty-seven interminable weeks taking orders from what may have been the ghost of a prominent late 19th century American artist, but was probably just a figment of my oxygen-starved brain! Ha ha ha! Oh, did I forget to tell you about that, what with my conveniently selective amnesia and all?” Seriously, are we just going to pretend that the whole Ghost Ryder thing JUST NEVER HAPPENED? ARE WE? Because … because actually that would be pretty great. I really hated that whole storyline while it was happening, and the last thing I want to do is watch it get rehashed by these two morons.

Meanwhile, at the tavern across town: “Yes, but we could make it more fun, Gary! I’ve just heard about this great new thing all the young people are doing! It’s called ‘sex’!”

Blondie, 12/2/07

Yes, it looks like Dagwood and Blondie are friends with … the Glamrockers? All of them? From the entire history of glam rock? What about the ones like David Bowie, who eventually moved on to other aesthetics? Does this have anything to do with the Glambaster account?

I think the key to this whole puzzle is the middle panel of the bottom row, in which Dagwood busts out some old-school breakdance moves to celebrate the fact that he doesn’t have to go sit on the Glamrockers’ couch and watch Velvet Goldmine yet again. Obviously by the late ’70s or early ’80s Dagwood had come to believe that the whole glam rock craze was worn out and too studied by half, and found refuge in the new raw and frentic styles arising from the streets of the South Bronx.

Mark Trail, 12/2/07

Normally Mark Trail’s Sunday strips exist in a world wholly separate from the daily plots, but I can’t help but wonder if today’s lavishly illustrated paean to ritualized combat is meant to serve as a sad counterpoint to the deadly conclusion to the battle for territory between Johnny Malotte and Bull Malone. Why can’t humans take a cue from our animal friends, who know how far is too far? Why couldn’t Johnny and Bull simply have forced each other to smell their knuckles by turns until one of them had enough and withdrew instead of resorting to gunplay?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/2/07

If there’s one constant in the world of Rex Morgan, M.D., it’s that Rex is kind of a dick. Thus, I’m actually kind of surprised that Rex didn’t take the opportunity to correct Mrs. Jail Escapee’s reference to Niki as Rex’s “son.” “I’m sorry, ma’am, maybe it’s because you’re a lowlife yourself, but it should be pretty obvious to anyone with any degree of class that this little street punk obviously did not grow up in the sort of upper middle class home that my doctor’s salary could provide. That explains why he constantly disappoints me, anyway.” Of course, he’s still a dick enough to have underdosed Mr. Escapee on painkillers before cutting his arm open. With Rex, being a dick always comes first, even if it means that he might get shot in the face. That’s just how he rolls.