Post Content

They’ll Do It Every Time, 9/26/06

The main gripe in today’s TDIET is ludicrously pointless (contractors sometimes overextend themselves and take longer to finish things than you think they will oh no oh no whatever shall we do) but I’m intrigued by one of the comments from the peanut gallery at the right of the frame: “Those are the same two guys who built the pyramids.” What on earth is this supposed to mean? That they’re immortal and unimaginably old? That they’re sinister Egyptians? That the pyramids, like this Long Island in-law addition, were vast projects that took years to complete and were intended to house mummified corpses?

I was going to rely on my ancient history master’s degree and, more importantly, my repeated viewings of the Ten Commandments to work out a riff about how the pyramids were actually built by tens of thousands of slaves who could just be whipped into submission if they tried anything funny like this, but I decided to quickly check the relevant Wikipedia article, which, since it’s written by thousands of know-it-alls with lots of free time, cannot be wrong, and I found out the following:

Two major theories surround the construction of the pyramids of Egypt. The first theory, suggested by the Greeks, posits that slaves were forced to work until the pyramid was done. A more widely accepted theory in the modern era, however, suggests that the Great Pyramids of Egypt were built by hundreds of skilled workers who camped near the pyramids and worked for a salary or as a form of paying taxes until the construction was completed.

Soooo, um, no whippings, I guess. Still and all, I imagine that none of these skilled workers ever lipped off to pharaoh about how the Tyrians wanted some Ba’al temples built, and the Nubians have this irrigation system they need overhauled, so they’d be back in a few days. But I don’t think we should lose sight of the larger picture here, which is: the little kid is making cracks about the pyramids, what the hell.

Judge Parker, 9/26/06

I continue to enjoy new artist Eduardo Barreto’s work on Judge Parker, but I also wish he’d pick a lettering style and stick with it. This one is an improvement over the previous font, though the fact that it seems to all be in italics makes it looks like everybody is shouting all the time. Which, who knows, maybe they are. All the dialogue seems to end in exclamation points, anyway.

Katherine Harris Parker may have gathered 1,500 signatures, but she managed to obliquelly bring up once more what appears to be Randy Parker’s Achilles’ heel in the bizarro-world that is Judge Parker: his unmarried status. At least Reggie Black has a wife, you … you … not-the-marrying-kind-if-you-know-what-I-mean-nudge-nudge-wink-wink! In real life, of course Randy’s family situation and sexuality would be irrelevant in his bid for the bench, but he would be unable to project the gravitas needed to be judge because everyone would be snickering about his being named “Randy.”

Hi and Lois, 9/26/06

For the record, the most recent changes to the MPAA rating system were the introduction of the PG-13 rating in 1984 and the changing of the X rating to NC-17 in 1990. OH MY GOD STOP THE WORLD I WANT TO GET OFF!

Post Content

OK, people, I know we’re all very broken up about Aldo’s possible demise (and I emphasize the possible — several commentors have already floated halfway plausible theories about ways reports of his death may have become exaggerated). Clearly, we all care about Aldo — today is, it may not surprise you to know, my heaviest traffic day ever, and there are still two hours left in it. But still, until we get closure, we must move on and enjoy some other strips.

Curtis, 9/25/06

See, like this Curtis: very enjoyable. I freely admit that when it comes to broccoli, I am a whiny little Barry type. I love the way his freakishly huge broccoli crown gets freakishly huger between the second and fourth panels, and the way Curtis, who we all know will eat anything organic and some things that aren’t, regards his little brother’s squeamishness with silent but undisguised contempt. Mrs. Curmudgeon made some broccoli for her dinner tonight, possibly under subliminal incitement from this very comic strip, and our kitchen was filled with the stink lines.

Gil Thorp, 9/25/06

Gil Thorp is so spastically paced that it’s hard to get your footing when it shifts gears, plot-wise, but I’m starting to be intrigued by the tale of Bill Ritter and Stormy Hicks. See, Bill and Stormy are inseparable and the best of pals. Stormy is ostensibly dating Bill’s sister, but he sure never seems to spend much time with her, no doubt because it would cut in on Bill and Stormy’s quality time together, which they mostly spend chainsawing wood. Yep, just a couple of guys in tight jeans and goggles, working some power tools, putting in a good, honest day’s work. One of whom is named “Stormy.” Yep.

The drama part is that Bill’s mom objects to his presence in the family home, refusing even to call him by name (“That’s a name you call a dog — or a lounge singer!”) and only offering as an explanation for her enmity the fact that “I went to school with that boy’s father!” Since interracial romance has already been covered in this strip, I await breathlessly to find out just what Mrs. Ritter has against poor Stormy. Meanwhile, he and Bill will keep working out their feelings with their chainsaws. Yep.

Post Content

Mary Worth, 9/25/06

I know I’m no Uncle Lumpy, but, here’s “Aldo’s Blues”, with apologies to W.H. Auden:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent old bags from meddling with a weighty tome,
Silence the chinbeard and with muffled drum
Bring out the car wreck, let interveners come.

Let Dr. Jeff’s plane circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message “Aldo’s Dead.”
Put crepe bows round old “Ask Wendy’s” booty,
Fire traffic cops for dereliction of duty.

He was our North, our South, our East and West,
Our two-tone week and color Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song;
We thought that Aldomania’d last forever: we were wrong.

The booze is not wanted now; put it all away,
Pack up the Johnny and dump out the Bombay,
Man’s inner life we know to be a mystery;
And if drinking’s involved, his outer life’s history.

How powerful was the grip of Aldomania on the land? Well, I logged on at 8:30 this morning and found not one but two Aldo Kelrast memorial videos uploaded to YouTube. The first is from faithful reader jonnya:

And the second from faithful reader the Angry Black Woman:

I urge you to use the comments thread on this post to work through your very understandable anger and pain. But don’t drink and drive off a cliff, no matter how upset you might be! And please do not use this thread to discuss Toby’s obvious camel toe, as this would be unbecoming to the dignity required in the situation.