Yes, possibly even more exciting than “It’s Martini Time!”, as sung by the Rev. Horton Heat. Of course, the excitement is tempered by a sensible breakfast and talk around the kitchen table.
And then some more talk…
And wouldn’t you know, right on the heels of the wide-eyed, silent, looks-speak-volumes cat comes Lio! If the American Toast Council ever needs a spokesman, I’m backing Lio. I’m also backing the slogan: Toast: It’s What’s for Breakfast.
This is from a strip called The Better Half. I don’t read it. Uncle Lumpy, CC’S resident baby-sitter when Josh goes out of town, mentioned it (it had something to do with humor involving computers), but it was Mooncattie once again who called attention to the “Picasso cat.”
Yep. IT’S A KITTY! How can you go wrong?? It wasn’t *thinking* anything, but it was off-center. Both of these behaviors are extraordinarily cat-like, which is why I think it works so well.
…I was shocked! to discover that after a week of beating around the bush (or the corpse), that Alan, the resident drug addict in Apartment 3-G, really had been shot by a fellow drug addict. Silly me, I thought there might be some weird, intriguing twist, and that Alan was still alive — and then I remembered that this was Apartment 3-G.
Well, so shocked was I with the discovery at the morgue that I completely missed the fact that Dr. Andy Reed (aka, Count Morgu) himself was doing the autopsy! Thanks to CC’s Mooncattie for pointing this out. I will endeavor to be more astute in the future.
Oh, I wrote a song, too. Okay, they’re just lyrics. And I swiped the music from Oklahoma.
Pore Alan’s dead
Our fav’rite junkie’s dead
All gather round the cold slab now and cry
He’s been pumped full of lead
It’s no wonder that he’s dead
He doesn’t have to worry ’bout getting high.
Pore Alan’s dead
Pore junkie-boy’s dead
He’s lookin’ oh so holey and inert (and inert)
We’ve got to find a plan
We can spring upon LuAnn
So she’ll know he’s just a little more than dirt.
Pore Alan’s dead
The bullet missed his head
He’s lookin’ not so tidy, but still nice
He won’t paint anymore
Not that he did much of that before
But what we’ve got should sky-rocket in price.
Whew! A lot of action! A lot of polyester! What more can I say?
…is purple. Sadly, this is not purple.
Happily, however, Thursday, 25 September 2008 was “Draw People’s Asses Day” in the comics. I don’t think all cartoonists did that, but Hats Off (and trous down!) to Judge Parker (still investigating Dewey Cheatam’s murder by grilling exotic dancer Dixie Julep) and The Phantom (for a peek at the Purple One in a shot worthy of the old Sears’ catalog).
Oh! Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Some crackpot in The Phantom is capturing bats and killing them for their blood! W. T. F. ??? Do something, Ghost-Who-Snoops!
…check out that car!
There was some nattering about the relentless use of “Ghost-Who-Fill-in-the-Blank” and little yellow boxes in The Phantom, as if five or six words would bring a potential new reader up to speed. I don’t know. I look at the strip (and yes, it is relevant that I look at the strip more often than read it) and I don’t care much one way or another.
One of the good folks at CC brought up a strip that ran earlier this year, to demonstrate that Ghost-Who-Has-More-Money-Than-Common-Sense does actually show up from time to time out of spandex. At those times, he’s “Mr. Walker” (ooooh, quite the disguise). It looked like a good time to feature “Mr. Walker,” little yellow boxes, and dopey epithets.
The car is still purple, though.
…and now it’s Mr. Trail Goes to Washington! This is a pretty cool Sunday installment of Mark Trail — the Ocean Hall looks keen! I thinks it’s also pretty keen that the director of the Smithsonian and a NOAA representative are there, too!
Christian and Mary are fer real ‘n’ true folks. If that’s the case, maybe there really is a Mark Trail…
Nothing says “hospice regatta” like a bar-fight between the two most competitive yachtsmen on the eve of the Big Race! Only KT from CC land dubbed it “Pruuuuuuuunefiiiiiiiiiiiight!”, and I damn near swallowed my tongue. Golden, KT!
And of course, while I’m sure Lenore and Tweaks could’ve worked all of this out, the Yacht Club staff are understandably shaken by the potential of fractured hips. (Me? I’m mystified at the thought that there’s a second string of color-monkeys for the Sunday strips vs. the weekday ones….compare and contrast.)
Finally, Rex and Lenore can get back to a quiet conversation that lasts all of 30 seconds before Rex wedges his foot into his mouth again.
