May 1st, 2010

Snarky Candiru2

Sunday, 2 May 2010

As I wait to see what the new day brings, I remember that a new pattern has emerged; Lynn alternates between having a new-ruin or a strip from 1980. Since we had a new ruin last week, we're primed for something that has people wondering why Lizzie and Mike have de-aged today.

And I'm wrong; we have a new-ruin with Farley's taking as long as he takes to relieve himself as the source of 'humor'; K-words to howtheduck for reminding us that it's an inferior remake/foreshadowing of this strip from four years ago.

Panel 1: As our story begins, we find John walking Farley (who's snuffa-snorfa-sniffing the ground for reasons Lynn doesn't know about) down the street; since it's 198X, he isn't carrying a bag for his dog's poop.

Panel 2: We see more of the same; what's different this time is that he's snoofa-snorfa-snuffa-sniffing something on the groind.

Panel 3: Now he's sniffing something in the corner of the panel.

Panel 4: John starts to get irritated because Farley would rather sniff the hydrant than pee on it.

Panel 5: As Farley checks out the scent trail other dogs have left on a shrub, John checks his watch because he can't understand that it takes however long it takes for a dog to urinate.

Panel 6: We get more irritation and more whuffa-snoofa-snorhfle-snuffling as Farley follows his nose.

Panel 7: Farley finally does his business.

Panel 8: A few minutes later, we see John and Farley walking into the front hallway.

Panel 9: John angrily points at his watch in order to complain about how long Farley took to do his thing; Mike pops up and says "But Daddy...."

Panel 10: " take a long time too"; since he's not saying the same thing for the same reason about her, Elly laughs the Sticky-Out-Tongue Laugh of Malice&trade.

Summary: Well, if there has to be a "last" new-ruin, let's be glad it's something like this. That way, Lynn can bow out doing what she loves: sticking it to J-Rod.

And then there were two...

Two weeks of being buried in paperwork, of interviewing and re-interviewing, of staring at photos, of re-reading witness statements, of the fading bruise on his face left by a coffee cup intended for the back of someone else’s head.  Brad had had enough. He nightly scanned the real estate news for properties outside of Milborough and imagined a new existence far from here. Sure, most of the people involved in the Elly Patterson case lived elsewhere, but they would still call Milborough home and come back from time to time. He couldn’t arrest all of them. Not legitimately, anyway.

Who wanted to raise their family someplace where a food fight would break out after a funeral? The Pattersons’ dirty laundry – and there was a mountain of it – had been well and truly aired in public that day, and captured for posterity by the lanky guy with the ponytail who was photographing it. The photographer boasted of his dreams of an exhibition: “A Camera in their House”, featuring the distorted faces of enraged Pattersons shrieking at each other for the amusement of a public hungry for more stories of this dysfunctional family. Brad expected that it would be a hit, but not something he’d ever go to see.

Jill was waiting. Brad donned his hat, feeling more and more like a character in a play. The past two weeks had kept them very busy eliminating suspects, and it had been laughably easy to convince everyone that they weren’t allowed to discuss the case with each other. Now they were down to two remaining suspects. John Patterson. Connie Poirier. Time to bring them in.