Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

So, anyway, Margo is visiting a friend (or what passes for a friend of Margo’s), Nina, presenting her a box of chocolates, complimenting her on her new hairdo, exchanging compliments (I have no idea who Nina is, maybe some dead guy’s wife, considering this is Apartment 3-G).  During the course of the chat, Nina points out to Margo, who is evidently blind but is bravely soldiering on without a white cane or a seeing-eye wolverine, that she’s pregnant.  Something like 11 months pregnant.

Faithful commenter pugfuggly, over at the Comics Curmudgeon, commented:

Given the compete lack of legs in A3G, I’ve often wondered if the finale of this strip is going to reveal that it was actually one big puppet show the whole time, and that the entire lives of these three women are just the product of the imagination of some autistic child with a chest full of dowdy marottes.

Interesting as that might be, I just focused on “puppet show”:

Personally, I think a puppet show featuring Margo and Sphixter would be pretty awesome.

Or, maybe just having Margo do what she does so well would be enough…

(You will be so good as to note that Nina’s words in Panel 1 are verbatim.  Heck, no one could resist that!)

And it’s home again, home again…with Lu Ann still in the wilds of West Dakota.

And we’ve moved back to deep philosophical discussions (read, boring talking heads) at the apartment.  I’ll have to fix that…

When 9 Chickweed Lane‘s resident ballerina, pianist, impossibly-wonderful and now “The Butt of Nicole Cignet Fashions” Edda Burber struts the latest piece o’ fluff:

And CC’s queek, source of Cuteness, Kawaii Commando, suggests that Ms. Burber wishes she were as cute as this model:

Then it’s time to put it to a test:

YES! queek’s hypothesis holds true! Give the man a Nobel prize! (or at least a cookie…)

Or at least the major character in 9 Chickweed Lane.

I think it started with Edda Burber (special snowflake from 9 Chickweed Lane) being contracted as a “butt model” for a clothing line (her fellow ballerina was contracted as a “face model” for the same company, as it was determined that Edda had a voice uniquely suited for radio).

Suddenly, Edda is contracted as a model for all of her bits.  Why? It’s my contention that when she’s flashing her breasts, butt, legs and/or hoo-hoo, no one’s paying one rat’s ass worth of attention to her face.

One of the faithful at the Comics Curmudgeon attempted to corroborate this theory thus:

Baka Gaijin, CC’s resident clown-o-phobe, wasn’t so sure.  Further testing was necessary. Hence:

I believe that the jury is still out, but I think the original clown is way, way cuter.

What you do with it is your own business…

…last Sunday’s panel-heavy 9 Chickweed Lane, with no dialog but a plethora of random (maybe otherwise, given the writer) punctuation marks, only made me think of a feminine protection commercial.  So, run with it, says I!

After a week of absolutely insufferable Thorax strips, featuring a sock puppet no doubt the artist’s sad little conception of his critics, Brooke McE has returned to elegant and silent illustrations of the sweet Solange.  Now while some folks don’t like cats, or don’t like cats that don’t “do” anything but saunter through a week worth of panels, I think there might be a future for Miss Solange and Sphinxter.

Brooke McE (via Pibgorn, of all sources) has provided something that successfully cuts the saccharine cutesyness of Love is… It seems our usually nauseatingly-precious li’l devil dude has been flexing his muscle, and not a moment too soon.

It’s Monday, and it looks like we’re going to be inundated with

1. Les Moore regaling Cayla with stories of how he’s gotten even with everyone who ever told him he’d never be a writer; and

2. Gay Seth confessing to maybe-Gay (you know, Brooke, there is such a thing as Bisexual) Roger his sexual fling with a woman of the female type.

Who’s more smug? More self-righteous? Granted, Roger could fit the Neener-Neener bill very nicely, but Seth was such a big dick douchebag jerk in outing Mr. Family Man, that I’m casting him as Les’ primary competition.

Well, it appears that these little heart-to-heart chats are going to go on all week.  I’m trying to figure out if this should be catagorized as a marathon or a decathlon.