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Spider-Man, 4/5/05

City boy that I am, I don’t have much experience with large odd-toed ungulates; so, when the Rhino announced that he’s “got the speed of a rhino,” I had to laugh. Rhinos are huge, lumbering animals! This boast is like claiming to have “the strength of a hamster” or “the intelligence of a brick!” But I figured that before I scoffed at this claim here, I ought to do a little research on ye olde Internet; and sure enough, rhinos can rumble forward at thirty miles an hour, which, if you parse the fourth-grade-math-word-problem construction of the Rhino’s monologue, you’ll realize is how fast he’s claiming to run here. I’m a little dubious that either a rhino or the Rhino can actually sustain this speed for a whole hour, but I preemptively retract my mockery in any case.

I’m still bitter at the Rhino for making learn stuff, though. (Don’t you know that if I wanted to find out interesting facts about animal life, I’d read Mark Trail?) That’s why I’m going to make fun of his retarded outfit. Hey, the Rhino: That’s the lamest supervillain outfit I’ve ever seen! Kraven looks like Sigfried or Roy’s just-a-smidge-less-fabulous back-up; you look like you got kicked off of a furry sex commune because your mom did such a crappy job on your costume! Plus, everyone knows that actual rhinos have one horn, not two! Jerk.

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Gil Thorp, 4/4/05

OK, so Ludacris probably isn’t going to make an appearance, but at least we’ve got drug dealing! Yes, it seems that Hutch Renfro — who only days ago stolid Coach Thorp was praising for his spark or his zing or his moxie or his fullness of beans or some such — is full of a bit more than beans. Which one of Milford’s indistinguishable student-athletes will be the first to succumb to Hutch’s slick “stuff” push? Will it be, um, the guy who lost all the weight? Or, uh, one of the other guys? Or Steve Luhm, whose bulbous hair and Buddy Holly glasses are creeping in from the left edge of frame three? Once the first victim gets hepped up on coke or meth or what have you, there’ll at least be some vague excuse for the twitchy, spastic pacing of this strip.

By the way, the fact that “the no. 1 dealer at Milford” is setting a fifty-cent maximum bet at his poker game tells me that Milford is every bit as lame as I think it is.

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Family Circus, 4/3/05

Adorable mispronunciation? Classic Family Circus. Little kid lying face down, face twisted in pain, wondering what happened to the promised unconditional love and help from his big brother — love that they both knew, deep down in their hearts, he couldn’t provide? That, my friends, is a classic glimpse into dark, tormented soul of Jeffy Keane. I’m not sure what the context is for this little family drama, but wherever there’s Bette Midler blasting on the boom box, something non-alcoholic in the pitcher, and unsupervised little kids flinging themselves off of hills, you know there’s fun to be had.