Behavior…based on genetics or on the environment?
It’s amazing how itty-bitty bits of DNA do contribute to the strangest things: eye color, webbed toes, vestigial tails, and now…
Oh, I see, we’re not going with the Nancy-on-the-prowl theme. The garbage man is Dirk. He used to be Toni’s boyfriend and he beat up Brad, too (the appropriate responses here are “So?” and “YAY!”). There’s been a restraining order on him to stay away from Brad, which was a convenient way to write him out of the story.
(I had to look this up on Wikipedia — I wasn’t gawking at Luann with the morbid fascination of someone passing a train-wreck when he was in the script.)
So, now, we’re all caught up. And Nancy proves to be the most conniving and scheming practical character in the strip.
[Heh. She said “strip.”]
Oh, look! Even more Science!:
…or maybe not.
Anyway, Gran’s beau from WWII is rediscovered, still alive, and after getting a severe tongue-lashing from Edda (not as much fun as you might think), goes in search of the Woman He Waited for for Fifty Years:
And to be honest, Friday’s dreadful 9 Chickweed Lane (9/10/10) was at least temporarily forgiven by Saturday’s (9/11/10) strip. So you can choose to ignore this (or not):
And just in case BMcE diddles around with the Monday strip badly:
…if only to make fun of Rex Morgan, M.D. (Medical Demeanor)’s expression.
Oh, and to realize that on occasion some people really, really need to be meddled. (Or, more simply put, “STFU, Jenna!”.)
No, I really mean it.
Oh, the good old days, when a smile could be your umbrella, when it turned a frown upside down, when it made everyone feel good.
Other expressions are nice (the completely vacuous ones, no, but I digress). But what is it with today’s starlets (I hesitate to include today’s young male-types for the nonce) looking like all they’re ready for is to drop to their knees and take care of their adoring fans (nudge nudge wink wink say no more).
(Thanks to CC’s commodorejohn for the morning’s introspection.)
Oh, and shall we visualize the *best* of *all* *possible* *worlds*? Brace yourself:
Suddenly the thought of being quarry in a lame-ass “canned hunt” doesn’t seem so terribly bad, huh? *
* Completely sarcastic. If you can’t manage to actually “hunt,” and accept the responsibility of endangering yourself or possibly failing (oh, not, not that! Me Big-Game Hunter!), you shouldn’t be out there. Go and shoot a package of weenies at the Safeway deli counter, you moron.
Yes, I hope Mark Trail punches the crap out of Frank and his cronies. I’d be even happier if Frank’s wife Beth punches the crap out of Frank.
In the meantime: