I eat again at the so-called Soul Food place, and yet again I fail to consume a soul. Am I misinterpreting the signs, or is this place lying to me? The owner pries into my writing. I tell him only truth, and he seems troubled. Perhaps his soul is troubled. I could calm it. I could devour it. His partner is nowhere to be seen. The restaurant is empty. Today I will eat soul food.
Spider-Man, 5/26/05
Yeah, so here’s the thing, MJ: Your husband has super powers. He’s single-handedly saving the special effects department millions. As for you, we’re not even sure you’re a real redhead.
Josh’s indecisiveness means extra bonus comics for you!
Ziggy, 5/25/05
Proof that Rex Morgan, M.D. isn’t alone in the category of Comics Whose Authors Should Really Read The Dialogue Aloud Before Choosing Which Words To Boldface or Underline. I’m trying to think of what the pizza emporium representative could have said that would make this intonation make sense. “We have a special on our five-cheese pizza.” “Really? …do you have five-cheese pizzas?” “Uh, yeah, we have a special on it.” Really? …do you have five-cheese pizzas?” “Um…”
I should cut him some slack, I guess. He’s a mouse. It’s an achievement that he’s learned to speak English and operate a phone.
Sally Forth, 5/25/05
Ces, you magnificent bastard, if this storyline ends with Sally poking at a mummified cat corpse with the handle of her tennis racket while Hilary screams in terror and grief, I will be deeply impressed. Tip to Ted: a casual aside at such a vulnerable moment along the lines of “Kitty heard that you were going away to Paris for a week so she killed herself” equals seven days of gettin’ it on in the City of Light without bratty child interference.
Apartment 3-G, 5/25/05
You say you hate to see him go, Lu Ann, but it’s sure giving you a nice opportunity to stare at his ass, isn’t it? I notice in this strip that Lu Ann and Janitor Scott are parting ways in SoPink, the all-pink district in Manhattan that the hipsters seem to have discovered lately. Time Out New York says SoPink is the new DUMBO.
Update: 158 comments, and nobody points out that I got the day of the week wrong in the title of this post? Thank God for the future Mrs. C.
Mark Trail, 5/24/05
Sadly, it looks as if the current painfully stupid storyline in Mark Trail is going to be resolved not by Mark’s quick fists and utter disregard for the constitutional rights of the accused, but by his tedious and pedestrian knowledge of natural phenomena, which in this case has been augmented by his ownership of a mail-order magnifying glass. Gosh, them magpies sure do like shiny things! Thank goodness they’re probably just flying in great squawking flocks around the collar, rather than, say, picking it up and hoarding it in a nest somewhere. If there were any justice in this world, the birds would be laying an elaborate trap for Mark, luring him to the distant clearing, far from human help, before descending on him and visiting a horrible, painful death upon him with their razor-sharp beaks. The freakishly large woodland animals would look on in silent approval in the foreground.
Meanwhile, check out the funky shading on Mark’s manly, rugged jawline in panel one. Compare to the faces of the dead-eyed zombie sherriff and the insane old hermit from earlier installments:
Looks like somebody got some kind of Acme Shadow-Drawing Kit™ for Christmas!
In shameless hucksterism news, Mike Donovan, who was one of the very first people to ever link to me, is TCC’s latest merchandise model:
Don’t let the visible creases dissuade you from buying this high-quality item of clothing, folks: they come out with just a few hours of vigorous ironing.