Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

Because shoulder hair isn’t disgusting enough…

Peter Parker is still in Miami, and bored with TV (yes, a shocker), he’s been out and about, inadvertently playing superhero.  Not only that — his stupid camera is actually working, allowing him to get some fabulous action shots which he’s sold to a newspaper that values his work!

Peter, you seriously need to think about relocating to Florida.

Peter, with MJ in this outfit, you SERIOUSLY need to think about relocating to Florida.

Here’s to CC’s suave and debonair B. Racoon, who has hit the road, looking for adventure, romance and excitement!

Even if he hasn’t, we’re fresh out of merlot (and murloe), so we’re toasting with a fine vintage bottle of Potato-Aid (that’s the spelling west of the Rockies, I think — east of the Rockies, it’s Potato-Ade, sorta like Dreyer’s vs. Edy’s ice cream, and Best Foods vs. Hellman’s mayo.  I never understood that.)

Happy trails, Mr. Racoon!

CC’s commodorejohn is intrigued by this Fact o’ Nature, supplied by Ripley’s Believe It or Not! (and yeah, it’s pretty cool):

Know what else is cool?

You finally make it home, only to discover that your wife thinks you’re dead and has since remarried.  And then she comes over and steals your Glock!

At least you have your sax and the knowledge that you’re not alone — a lot of your associates in ComicsTown have crappy lives, too.

(Oh, yeah, Wally — trombones are not saxophones.  They are not sexy.  They will never be sexy.  Well, a “Rusty Trombone” might be an exception to the rule, but I’m not sure about that.)

Peter Parker evidently fits this mold.  He needs to be out, snapping photos, swinging from tall buildings, fighting crime, chafing in embarrassing places.  Give him a few days of R&R, and he just falls apart.

Poop.

Pee.

Marvin’s readers are constantly barraged with both — it’s like visiting the Monkey House at the zoo.  Even so, even these jokes run thin, so let’s introduce snot!

Let’s not.  An effort to class up a classless comic strip by working on frozen snotsicles…

The week of 24 January was one of hawt, haunchy goodness in the comic strips. What, you don’t believe me?

I never liked Love is…

In fact, I pretty much loathe it.  I’ve never quite understand why it’s “okay” for two naked little kids to carry on in adult situations (falling in love, marriage, having kids of their own, etc.) and be on the same scale of “cute” as the melon-heads in Family Circus.  God help us, they are WAY creepier than the Keane Klan.

While the “love” in Love is… is scmaltzy, squicky kanoodling, we all know what it all really boils down to,  and the creator/artist/whover the hell is running this fiasco has been dancing around it for years:

You don’t really need to know what’s going on in the current Spiderman story-line (hell, I’m not sure what’s going on).  This is mostly a matter of Mary Jane getting undressed for bed and what kind of passions folks have — acting for Mary Jane and, um, other stuff for Peter…