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Ever-faithful reader True Fable sent me some pics this past weekend sporting his spiffy new cranberry Margo!Boxcar!Saturn shirt around the fine town of Roopville, both to illustrate willethompson’s handiwork and to prove that the city isn’t some kind of made-up place like “Shangri-La” or “Peoria”. I was so wrapped up in squiring my mom around that I was neglectful in posting them! So here they are. Pic two offers a close-up of the shirt, while pic three illustrates the architectural majesty of Roopville City Hall.

Sadly, this exclusive run of shirts is now in the hands of collectors only; perhaps you’ll be able to get one on eBay someday. However, there are plenty of Gail Martin shirts still available! There’s anecdotal evidence that these are beginning to arrive in the eager hands of the first buyers, so I demand that you all send me pictures post-haste!

On a largely unrelated but still awesome note, I received an e-mail the other day from faithful reader Vince with the subject “Your tax dollars are paying for 3-D Mark Trail”:

To commemorate their 200th anniversary (or some crap like that), the NOAA headquarters in Silver Spring have been giving away promotional cards. They’re card stock, about 5×8 inches, and on the front they have a bunch of information about NOAA. Boring so far. However, if you turn it over, you get this Mark Trail strip. If it looks blurry, that’s because it’s supposed to be read using these 3-D glasses.

Amazing as this concept is, I must sadly report that the 3-D strip does not in fact feature Mark’s Fist O’ Justice coming at you right out of the frame.

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Dennis the Menace, 8/1/07

Not to keep on repeating myself, but there are few things more disturbing in this life than seeing that single drop of sweat roll slug-like down George Wilson’s florid, spiteful mask of a face. All of the things that it could signify — an incipient killing spree, a massive cerebral hemorrhage in progress, unwanted sexual arousal — are things better left uncontemplated.

Today, Dennis is identified as a pest, which is an epithet much more in line with his severely downgraded antisocial behavior. It doesn’t actually rhyme with “Dennis,” but I would argue that his current pale reflection of his past menacing glories ought to revoke his right to a rhyming nickname. I had a brief hope when my eyes settled on the word “pest” that Mr. Wilson was referring to a three-foot-tall fly-human hybrid, who had escaped from his basement lab and had arrived to wreak a gruesome revenge on his creator. This, to me, would have justified that creepy bead of sweat.

Crankshaft, 8/1/07

Ha ha, silly old person! You thought that as an adult you were still entitled privacy and autonomy! Has nobody pointed out to you that you’re old?

Popeye, 8/1/07

After our last visit to this feature, those of you who don’t read Popeye regularly are probably wondering if the strip continues to be totally bonkers. Today’s installment, in which Popeye, Olive Oyl, and Olive Oyl’s brother Castor cower in a Cold War-era bomb shelter from a bloodthirsty cow determined to bite off their heads and drag their corpses across the field, is here to answer with a hearty “Yes!”

Gil Thorp, 8/1/07

“All beginners have issues with footwork Mr. Ritter, but Bill has only half as much trouble as most — because he only has half as many feet! Get it? Because he chopped one of his legs off with a chainsaw, you see. But anyway, your boy can punch! It’s almost as if he carries some kind of burning, unquenchable rage inside of him! I can’t guess why that would be, but let’s just hope that the guy who invented the chainsaw doesn’t get in the way of his fists, you know what I’m saying? Get it? Because he chopped one of his legs off with a chainsaw! Hey, come back, where’re you going? I got a million of these!”

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Cathy, 7/31/07

It’s possible that the Cathy powers that be have decided that we need to be distracted from the loathsomeness of Cathy and her parents and have thus created a family that is even more hateful. Or they may believe Cathy’s family to be a perfect little group and that this is the depths required to register on their awful-o-meter. Either way, the point is that Irving’s family are terrible people, which has been the thrust of the “jokes” in Cathy throughout this family reunion plot, which has been going on for … well, I haven’t been keeping track, but it seems like about a year and a half. Today’s different, though, because we actually get to see the other members of Irving’s clan all in a row, and learn that they’re all terrifyingly identical Hillman-Bots, presumably just released from the factory. The fact that they all look like either Irving’s mother or Irving’s father indicates the unseemly amount of inbreeding required to produce these grinning, dead-eyed clones. Hopefully these abominations of nature are being lined up against the wall so they can be shot and this horrible perversion of science ended once and for all.

Mary Worth, 7/31/07

Mother of God in heaven above! After reading your comments, I thought I was prepared for the awful hideousness of Dawn’s outfit, but now I know that no human could ever be ready for this. I think what disturbs me most is the obvious care she’s taken to match find a pair of bike shorts and an extra-long t-shirt in precisely the same offensive shade of purple. The appliqué of a two-headed kitten sitting in a stewpot is just the revolting icing on the repulsive cake.

The Phantom, 7/31/07

“Maybe I should just start appearing out of thin air! With my gun! Um. Gun. Yeah. First person who asks what kind of ghost needs a gun to fight bad guys gets shot, by the way.”

At least faithful reader Bootsy will be placated by today’s featured stripey ass presentation.

For Better Or For Worse, 7/31/07

Must … not … make … joke … about … a person … being … inside … Becky …