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Man, a guy goes away for a few days, and some pretty twisted romance goes down in the funny pages. Let’s check in with the weekend’s high points!

First, Sunday’s Mary Worth will go down in infamy as the Day The Stalking Started. We need to begin by taking a look at this panel:

The fact that Mary doesn’t want to spend time with creepy sublettor Aldo Kelrast needs no explanation, but why does she feel that the best way to reject him is to babble on like a minor character in a Jane Austen novel? She seems to be taking the line that if she’s seen spending time along with a man 15 years her junior while her not-actually-her-boyfriend is out of the country, she’ll be branded as a whore. Which may seem ludicrous to those of here on planet Earth, but check out the two old biddies in the left half of this panel, clearly in mid-gossip. Already the tales of Mary’s trampish sluttery — talking to a strange man with her arms and shoulders exposed! — are no doubt spreading throughout the hallways of Santa Royale’s most exclusive mid-range child-free condo complex.

Meanwhile, Aldo forgets that the first rule of stalking club is: don’t talk about stalking club.

This panel has actually solved a little dilemma for me. Since Aldo first came on the scene, I’ve imagined his voice to be effete and quasi-British, like Dr. Smith in Lost In Space. Mrs. C. feels that instead it should be high-pitched and nasal — the classic movie nerd voice. Now, however, it’s clear that he talks like George Zimmer, the guy who does all those damn Men’s Wearhouse commercials.

Speaking of classic movie nerd voices, this weekend Raju got a little pep talk from Abbey:

Yeah, Raju, go for it! Go for it! And say, who’s lounging cartoonishly sexily in the next room?

Let the daughter pimping begin!

Meanwhile, in Lost Forest, Mark Trail is expressing his forbidden love for Kelly Welly the only way he can: by tackling her.

Despite the fact that even casual readers of this strip know that this is Kelly, Mark’s been referring to her as “he” and “him” for days now, presumably as another part of the sublimation process.

And speaking of forbidden love, “Dr.” “Troy”‘s head exploded.

He’s also, to the surprise of no one, not a real doctor. I keep waiting for Rex to laugh and say, “Join the club, Troy, join the club.”

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We’re going on a long weekend trip to celebrate my birthday (that is, the anniversary of my actual birth, not of the birth of this blog), though we are not travelling to sunny Mexico, as this awesome graphic from faithful reader Joan might imply. New posts back on Tuesday, I promise.

To entertain yourself in my absence, check out this increasingly alarming series of graphics featuring my head from faithful reader jonnya:

• Josh’s head
• Josh’s head (larger)
• Josh’s heads
• Josh’s head (with crazy eyes)

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Apartment 3-G, 7/13/06

OK, I know Apartment 3-G is forbidden by law from being sexy, but … Lucy swaps spit with Captain Brushcut in an elevator, and then ends up slightly disheveled but fully clothed on his couch? Lamest. Extramarital affair. Ever.

I do like the trepidatious way in which she’s regarding the slightly open doorway. “That color … oh, crap, please tell me I didn’t go home with that tool Seth from my poetry group, who’s always wearing those hideous electric blue suit jackets. Note to self: eat something after the fourth cosmo from now on.”

Curtis, 7/13/06

Here’s something that you may not believe or even agree with: though I don’t find Curtis funny most of the time, I have come to admire it. Unlike so many, many syndicated strips, it doesn’t phone things in; there’s almost always a wealth of details that reward examination. I particularly like the use of the double-wide second panel to show the Curtis POV church lady panorama, with Curtis’ horrified head dead center. I’m even willing to overlook the inappropriate quote marks in the final panel just because the idea of Curtis hoping to be freed from these women by death’s sweet embrace makes me laugh.

(Tangent: This past weekend we went to see a free outdoor concert by a Latin-y/swing band that a friend of ours is in. Towards the end, this adorable little ham of a child, somewhere in the six to eight range, ran down in front of the stage and started busting a hilarious and surprisingly successful series of circa-1986 breakdancing moves. He was wearing a ludicrously oversized baseball cap that kept falling off as he would spin around on his back or whatever, and ever time he picked it up, he’d be careful to put it back on a more or less the same jaunty angle at which Curtis is rocking his own chapeau here.)

Crankshaft, 7/13/06

In case you’re wondering what Crankshaft does to supplement his meager Social Security checks during the summer when he’s not driving a bus, this week has the answer: he drives an ice cream truck, though this seemingly benign profession should not be taken to indicate that he’s open to compromise on his fundamental and general hatred of the human race. Strips in this storyline so far have featured Crankshaft engaging in such par-for-the-course prickery as taunting people at a Weight Watchers meeting, being rude to children, and, as depicted here, refusing to deploy even basic customer service techniques. It all strengthens my conviction that this strip should be given the slightly longer but much more descriptive title Jesus Christ, Ed Crankshaft Is Such An Asshole.

Gil Thorp and Judge Parker, 7/13/06

Boy, Raju is sure going to be disillusioned when he signs up for his first American gymnastics class.