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No doubt many of you who are just beginning to appreciate the joys of Gil Thorp have thought to yourself, “There’s no way human hair can look like that in real life!” Well, maybe not, but you can get pretty close with just water and shampoo:

Now, why have I chosen to humiliate myself in this fashion? To encourage you to do the same! You see, there’s been a modest uptick in Comics Curmudgeon gear sales in the past couple weeks. And yet nobody has sent me a photo of themselves wearing, drinking out of, or otherwise using their fun new products! Now, I’m honored, humbled, and excited that you’re buying the stuff (not to mention a dollar richer — or strictly speaking, less poor — for every sale), so it seems a little petty to ask yet more of you. But since you’re clearly prepared to wear it in public to the general bafflement of mankind, why not show it off to the one group of people who are in on the joke? Please, I beg of you: grab your photo phone and digital camera and send me the pic!

Speaking of moneymaking opportunities: if you’re reading these words, you know how intelligent, attractive, and well-heeled Comics Curmudgeon readers are. You’ve probably thought to yourself, “I’d like to advertise my for-profit scheme on this blog, but Google can’t guarantee that my ad will be here, and to be on Amazon you need to be ‘published.'” Well, fear not! I’ve now signed up to have ads from Blogads in my left-hand navbar, and have been so pleased with them that I’ve kicked Amazon to the curb. If you click on the “advertise on the comics curmudgeon” link at the bottom of the ads (or, heck, just click here) you can advertise on this site for as little at $10!

And finally, I, under no financial obligation whatsoever, urge you to check out the new blog at Drink At Work, penned by Medium Large and Sally Forth writer Francesco Marciuliano. He’s been doing a pretty funny series about the comic strip-writing process, which includes one of the most savage and a hilarious screeds directed against Prickly City that I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen plenty). Ces, man, you better watch your back at the next Reuben Awards banquet or wherever the hell it is you people get together.

Update: OK, not exactly what I had in mind, but check out our newest sexy model:

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 4/14/05

I’ll bet you just pitched that tent fairly recently, didn’t you, Buck? And are you sure you don’t want to impose just a bit longer?

I swear, this strip is getting gayer by the day. Somewhere out there, several Rex Morgan, M.D. fan fiction sites just added a separate page for Rex/Buck slash stories.

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Gil Thorp, 4/13/05

I admit it: I’ve only been reading Gil Thorp for a few months. I’m a Thorpie-come-lately. I’m not up on my Thorpiana. I have a hard time telling these square-jawed, flat-topped jocks apart. And so until yesterday I hadn’t given much thought to goateed radio personality Marty Moon, whose life is apparently so empty and meaningless that he has nothing better to do than to serve as lone play-by-play announcer for every game of every sport Milford plays. I always assumed that he mainly existed to help the reader follow the action on the court/field/diamond/rink/ring/cage/whatever, and that the Milford athletic department was probably to some degree grateful for his fanatical if somewhat puzzling dedication to high school sports in general and to their team in particular.

But now Marty (who, we’ve learned, is really named “Martin Munenhausen”) is being hauled off to the clink, while Gil and his freaky-haired assistant just smirk smugly to themselves. What gives? Is this another Barry Bonds-style falling-out between the athletic establishment and the media that fails to be sufficiently reverent? If so, Coach Thorp can’t find a more willing objectivity-eschewing media mouthpiece than his own injured player.

Anyway, the best part of this strip, apart from the rent-a-cops in neckties, in the crowd scene in panel three. Gil Thorp crowds are always full of wacky characters, as if a film studio’s entire complement of extras decided to take in a high school baseball game after a hard day’s work. I’m particularly fond of the creepy dude with the combover, dark glasses, and striped polo shirt at the bottom left. He looks like the type who really ought to be prevented by restraining order from coming too close to school athletic events. Meanshile, the guy behind him is waving his arms around as if to say, “Hey, ma, look at me! I’m on the radio!”