Now, is a freakin’ Pool Party too much to ask?
Evidently so…because the next day, Mary asks for a retelling! (No, I am not making this up.) Yet I suspect the newly-redeemed, life-isn’t-so-brutal-after-all Dawn has her limits.
In this summer of the 30th Olympiad, ship sinkings, bighorn sheep killings, free trips to San Diego and emo ballet performances, Sam Driver and Avery Blackstone have kind of been lost in the mix. They’ve been fly fishing and wining and dining with Bea O’Boobs, and Avery’s been trying to sweet-talk Ms. O’Boobs into opening the lodge for other fishermen, but way down deep, there’s more. Oh, so much more!
And damned if Sam is completely clueless. I’m just a little frightened by Avery’s impersonation of a wall-eyed pike.
Just sayin’.
Because Mary HATES stupid.
Just the usual crap TV Mommy uses to placate us!
And speaking of insipid ‘art’…
…but it would be keen if it did!
Of course, we could always go out on a limb and discover who’s the real brains in Lost Forest:
When Rex sees patients, they tend to be elderly: our “newest” client Melissa, drunk ‘n’ dead Foster, sailboat sailin’ Lenore. Even when he’s on vacation, the Morgan family is associated with older folks (Arthur and his boozy wife Agnes Dunsmore).
Okay, so this doesn’t have anything to do with the current plot (that I know of), but it’s fun for doctor’s office waiting rooms chats. Plus, Panel 3 is proof-positive that Rex has at least an honorary PhD in dickish smuggery.
And you know that he’s trying to be as sincere as he can!
are beginning to wear on Big Daddy. Or maybe it’s just the years of juvenile bossiness. Whatever.
[I’m trying to figure out if Olympic swimmer Nick Thoman approves:]
One of the hallmarks of BMcE’s cartooning style is drawing women (and a number of men, like Amos, who might be a woman) with very non-discernible chins. So, after all these years of seeing Edda and other Burber women without much of a jaw, I really did think the first depiction of Edda in the 7 August 9 Chickweed Lane strip was a wardrobe malfunction, not a glimpse of her jaw (gasp!) and tip of her nose. Granted, it was a little subtle for the artist, but I really did believe that.
(Fun Fact of the day: There are a few very primitive fish with no jaws that still survive. Fancy-pants people refer to them as agnathids, but reg’lar folks just call them things like “lamprey” and “hagfish.” I wonder if fancy-pants also try to link the etymology of the name Edda to the word agnatha.)
And since she’s being booted out of the ballet company, maybe it’s just best to throw bouquets. Shine on, you crazy diamond!
Does this mean there might be love in the air for Margo? I’m guessing it’s just your typical miasma-carrying typhoid…
