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B.C., 7/26/05

Here’s what the future Mrs. C. had to say about today’s B.C.:

“Some comics make you laugh, some make you think. Unfortunately, this one does neither.”

Actually, though, this strip did make me think, specifically about what ol’ Johnny’s smoking, what with his legs-protuding-out-of-the-armipits fish there. Because you know that the idea of some sort of fish that could, in defiance of God’s law, go up on land is totally removed from reality.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 7/25/05

Dr. Hamilton is, of course, a man of science, so when he expresses combined-bold-and-italics-level shock at the notion that Buck was sired by a human male in the usual way, I assume it’s because he had already settled on an alternative explanation for the young man’s existence. Here are some potential theories:

• He was brewed up in a lab by a secretive clan of scientists looking to create the ultimate, fearless manifestation of modern man in all his wonderful and terrible glory.
• He was shot forth self-living out of the bosom of the Earth, perfectly formed, with a day’s growth of beard and every sexy blond hair out of place just so.
• He arrived from outer space in a glowing disk of light, with so much to teach us about our place in the universe … and about each other.
• He was born of a virgin, and was beaten within an inch of his life with a fence post for our sins.
• He just showed up one day on the outskirts of town, hitching a ride in on an old pick-up truck. We never did catch where he came from, but things sure are less exciting around here now that he’s gone.

With such lofty ideas in mind, I can understand that it must come as a shock and disappointment to Dr. Hamilton to learn that Buck’s genesis came about in the usual way. Especially when he got a load of the combover on one half of that genesis.

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Mary Worth, 7/22/05

Two Taiwanese-made machine-crafted porcelain swans: $4.

One bottle of Mr. Boston scotch-style liquor beverage product, extra large: $9.

Watching your unwanted guest, wearing her ratty old housedress and carrying a suitcase containing one ill-folded lime-green blouse, stumble drunkenly out of the house in the middle of the night and then falling facedown into a ditch: priceless.

I’m heading out of town for the weekend, everybody: new comics Monday evening.