I didn't intend for this, really.

I read Paradise Lost because it was on the list of random books that I thought I probably should read.  It was only after I started reading the His Dark Materials trilogy that I learned the two were connected.  

(Now I'm just waiting to see how Kitchen Confidential, which I read in between the two, will come into play.)

It was dark. I remember because of the light.

Sitting in the theater, watching the preview, my only thought was, "Did the world really need another movie about mall security?  Did it really even need the first one?"

Goal number two.

In addition to looking at roadside attractions, I now want to travel around the country to the different places where I can dig, mine, and pan for gold, gems, fossils, and other treasures. 

There Will Be Blood.

Yes, there will.  Eventually.

The cinematography was really nice, though.

What if it's not really that big of a production?

When they adapt a book for the big screen, why do the stickers they put on the book always say something like, "Now a major motion picture."  Are there any minor motion pictures?

This just in: Crime Rate Skyrockets In Lost Forest.

Yeah, I didn't think Rusty'd take the money either.  I'm also starting to think that the camera doesn't necessarily belong to him, since he doesn't say that he won't sell it, just that he can't (and we all know that Rusty is far too honorable to sell goods that don't belong to him.  Why, if he did that, they'd have to take away his polka dotted neckerchief.).  Unfortunately, Mr. Goldshirt isn't going to take no for an answer and has decided that since he's come this far already, he might as well just take the camera (because after all, Rusty's just some kid and he's a master criminal, or maybe just a run of the mill criminal, I just don't know).  Poor Rusty, not only has he lost the pictures he just took of whatever is out at the barn, but when Mark gets the camera back, he'll have to go buy another strap for it (and he just came back from the camera store, too.)  I hope the Jack Elrod Ball cushions his fall, and that Mark, the spotted dog, and whoever else is in the area, come soon.  Sure, right now it's just a theft, but it could easily turn into a kidnapping.  I guess we should just hope that Mr. Goldshirt doesn't stop and look for the picture right away, otherwise things could get really dangerous.

Everyone has a price.

Rusty's appears to be $500.00.  I'm a little confused as to how Mr. Goldshirt happened to just drive up to the barn where Rusty is presumably taking his pictures without Mark, Cherry, or Doc seeing him.  (Where is Doc anyway?  First they don't take him to the diner, and now he seems to have disappeared from the strip entirely.  That's family for you.)  Apparently, once you've talked to a random stranger at a diner without finding out his name, where he's from, or what he's doing in town, it's okay to talk to them even when you're not with your parents.  (Yeah, that's not good.  Stranger danger!  Stranger danger!  Run, Rusty, run!  Where's that spotted dog to protect you when you need him?)  If you're going to accept the guy's money, Rusty, I'd make sure that those bills are real.  (I'd also make sure that the cops aren't looking for the serial numbers, but that's just a guess as to why Mr. Goldshirt and the longshoreman are on the run.)  Of course, the real question is, if he does end up selling the guy his camera, what's going to happen when the two criminals find out that the memory card they want isn't in the camera anymore?  I sure hope that the Jack Elrod Ball and the spotted dog are going for help because Rusty's going to need it.

Why would I need one of those?

Of course Dick didn't buy an iPhone, Tess.  He's got his wristwatch.  He has no need for an iPhone.  (Really, he doesn't.  He doesn't need all of those newfangled applications.  He knows the city like the back of his hand, and he doesn't need to surf the web, check the ski report, or examine x-rays and scans.  If he needs something high-tech, he'll go see Diet or bring TRAZE-R out of retirement.)  What he needs right now is a little peace and quiet so that he can continue to perfect his modeling poses.  (Dick, I think it's time to move beyond Teapot and The Pointer.)  Looks like someone's going to have to call the credit card company, which can only mean that we'll all be treated to an exciting collection of strips featuring Tess and/or Dick navigating a phone tree.  (Can you stand the excitement?  I'm not sure I can.)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, B.O. with his slime/Zol hat has just been confronted by one mad Gravel Gertie about some bags she found in the cellar.  I'm just wondering where she wants him to keep them, and why she's so mad when it appears that she never even took the time to see what they contained.  (Who knows what it could be.  Aztec gold?  Old receipts?  Fabric scraps?  Issues of National Geographic from the 1950s?  The mind reels)  All of that can wait, though, because in another turn of events, it has been revealed that Jack's name is actually Eyejack, and we can only hope that that's his last name and he actually goes by H. Eyejack (as in, he hijacks your identity...I know, it's a bad joke, but someone had to say it).  I think that I prefer just Jack, though, because when I say Eyejack, I am immediately drawn to the black void on the side of his face that might be a shadow, might be a bloody bandage, or might be the place where Eyejack got his eye jacked.  (I'll stop now.  Seriously.)  Looks like he might have something to fall back on after all, but that leaves me wondering this: how did he get a hold of the Tracy's credit card number?

I guess he doesn't live in a cave after all.

"Oh videotapes.  How I depended on you for hours of entertainment.  How I played you over and over and over again.  How I learned to untangled you without breaking the tape when the VCR tried to eat you.  You were hiding things from me."

That was one of the first things that came to mind when I bought the re-released Star Wars trilogy, especially during Return Of The Jedi.  It was the clearest example of how videos darken with age that I had ever seen.  For years I'd watched the movie (which had been taped off of some cable channel and given to us) and had been perfectly happy with it because I didn't know what I'd been missing.  Then when I got the new copy I discovered something: Jabba didn't actually live in a dimly lit cave, and he actually had more stuff on the walls than a carbonite Han Solo under a spotlight.  You see, I had never questioned the fact that Jabba was so powerful and yet seemed to live in a cave because it all made sense.  The outside of that palace thing really looked like a cave, and it didn't seem to have any windows, so it made sense that it would be dark.  Besides, Jabba had those big eyes, so I guess I thought he was kind of like an owl or any other light sensitive, kind of nocturnal, creature.  Basically, I chalked up the darkness to atmosphere, and didn't really know any better until the trilogy was re-released and I got my hands on a new, actually professionally produced, copy.  Then suddenly there were carvings on the walls and all sorts of other background things that I'd never seen before.  Still, there's just something about the cave that feels right, so I don't know whether I really like this new, brighter palace and sail barge better, or whether I prefer the dark, sometimes hard to see dwelling I first came to associate with the big guy.  

(I will say that getting a copy that made everything lighter definitely helped with The Monster Squad since I could then actually read the little red letters crawling up the screen and not have to try to dredge up the knowledge of what it said from my memory, sort of getting it right, and only being completely sure about the "They blew it," part.)  

Storm's a comin'.

I didn't have the Disney Channel growing up (or cable, for that matter), so a friend of my mom's would tape movies and cartoons for my brother and me.  I remember watching Donald Duck Presents (which I could probably sing the theme song to if I really had to) and Mousterpiece Theater with George Plimpton, as well as many other movies and shows (that was how I ended up watching Short Circuit, Flight Of The Navigator, a random Raffi concert, and a behind the scenes Return Of The Jedi program that I've never seen anywhere else, over and over and over again).  For all of the tapes that we ended up with, what I remember most, and was happiest of all to find when I was sorting through tapes many years later, was a Silly Symphony called The Old Mill.

I found many reasons to like this short.  The animation was just really beautiful and there was a lot of depth to it.  Also, it was just fun to watch, and it was different from other Silly Symphony cartoons because it wasn't really that silly.  It was almost one of those things that when you watched it as a child and liked it, you could feel grown up and say that you had sophisticated tastes (even if you really didn't and after it was over went back to the pile of LEGOs on the floor).  It also wasn't afraid to be a little scary and I think that was one of the reasons why I liked it so much.  (I mean, sure, the mill made it through this storm, but who knows whether it will make it through the next viewing.)

Knit one, purl two.

Knitting, knitting, knitting all of the little plot strands together,

and dropping the ones that no longer make sense.

Trails. Very dangerous. You go first.

Apparently, they aren't too picky about who they let camp in and around Lost Forest.  (I guess it makes sense.  After all, they let Kelly in, didn't they?)  Well isn't that nice?  The longshoreman has decided that he and his golden friend should split up, and he's volunteered his friend to be the one to go check out the Trails while he hangs out at the cabin, probably getting the fire ready so that they can cook hot dogs on sticks and then have s'mores later on.  The thing that puzzles me, though, is that I can't decide whether our two convicts are driving a gray vehicle, or if they've accidentally stumbled into some sort of crime noir comic.  (Probably just a gray vehicle.  Otherwise there'd be some sort of narration box containing one of the character's thoughts, and possibly the mention of a dame too impetuous to play it safe who's going to be nothing but trouble later on.)  We can only hope that the Jack Elrod Ball, taking a short break to play with some beavers (or otters, I can't tell), has detected these two scoundrels and found out about their plan.  Otherwise, the Trails could be in for a lot of trouble.  Come on little ball, rally the troops!  Mark needs you!  (And Cherry and Rusty, to a lesser extent.)

Uh-oh.  Looks like there could be trouble brewing at the old barn.  Rusty (and some strange spotted dog that I don't remember seeing before this storyline...hey, come to think of it, where's Andy?  This isn't going to be some sort of Brady Bunch-like situation, is it?) are headed out to take pictures of whatever is out at the barn.  This can only hint at the future misunderstanding that's going to occur between felon and boy as his camera is no doubt about to be stolen only for the criminals to discover that the memory card has been changed.  Hilarity will then surely ensue.

(Oh, and did you notice?  Today marks the 100th Mark Trail post.  What a long, strange, crazy journey it's been so far.  Can't wait to see what happens next.)

Not the brightest bulbs, are you?

So let me get this straight, these two diner patrons have their pictures hanging up in the post office, and now, after trying to buy Rusty's camera and then asking Wilford Brimley where the Trails live, they've decided that the only possible option left is to head out to Lost Forest and steal it.  Guys, odds are, if you hadn't said anything, that picture you accidentally found yourselves a part of would have just gone into an album and that would have been the end of it (and I'd say that the odds are also pretty good that you aren't even in focus in the picture).  All you're doing is making people suspicious, which makes me wonder how you haven't managed to be caught by now, and if you are wanted criminals, what are you doing eating at a local diner that seems to be doing a pretty good business at lunchtime.  Shouldn't you wait until dark when there are fewer people out?  (Who knows, maybe the Reuben is just that good.)

You can’t beat the Empire’s health plan.

Sure, it's evil.  It's plundered, enslaved, killed, and done who knows what to countless planets and peoples across the galaxy.  Still, it's always kept the health of its workers a top priority (most of the time, anyway).  Why else would it create badges that are also lozenges?  Got a sore throat on the Death Star or Star Destroyer after taking a quick trip to Hoth to try out that new Walker model?  Just take a badge out of its vacuumed sealed compartment and pop it in your mouth.  Don't want to do that because you see it as a demotion?  Never fear.  Demotions are as easy to reverse as cracking open another package of badges, easily stored in any locker or drawer, each with a special pin back that makes affixing it to your uniform a snap.  But the badges aren't just for soldiers with sore throats and hacking coughs.  Need a promotion?  Want to impress the ladies?  Want to look good at the next class reunion?  Parents coming into town for an unexpected visit and you want to look better than an overachieving sibling?  Pop on over to the nearest Empire owned drug store and you too can be an Admiral or a General (though really, why would you want to?  They have a nasty habit of being blamed for everything and then getting strangled by a rumbling sound and a couple of pinching fingers).

But excavating was half the fun.

Today I found a prize in my cereal.  Well, not really in the cereal because it was found between the cereal bag and the cardboard box.  I'm sure it was put there for health reasons, but the placement takes some of the fun out of cereal prizes because it takes away the challenge of actually finding the prize.  There's no seeing if you have the willpower to encounter the prize through the natural daily pourings of cereal into the bowl.  There's no removing of the bag from the box to see if you can see the prize through the bag to find its exact location.  There's no grabbing a mixing bowl and pouring out the cereal, getting the prize, and then trying to get it back into the bag without spilling.  Most of all, there's no digging through the cereal with your hand, clawing at it and pulverizing little bits along the way as you grope blindly for the plastic encased reason  you bought the cereal in the first place.  As I said, there's probably a health reason for it, but as far as I know, I never got sick from eating cereal that might have been touched by my unwashed hands.  Besides, that point becomes pretty much moot when you realize that you'll be reaching into the box anyway to grab a handful of cereal for a snack every now and then.  Oh well, I still like finding prizes in my cereal because goodness knows I wouldn't buy the toys if I saw them in the store (and besides, I only have to buy four more boxes to get the whole set...so long as I don't get an duplicates).   

The money's got to come from somewhere.

Tired of playing second fiddle (or third, or fourth, or whatever) to King, Jack left the Royal Flush Gang and started his own casino, making his money honestly by swindling unsuspecting gamblers (after all, it's a lot safer than living a life of crime, occasionally fighting superheroes), and to show you how tough times really are, it seems that somewhere along the way he also hired the Kingpin, showing that cross universe alliances really can work.  (Guess things are even tougher than I thought, but really, the Spider Slayer sale should have been a clue.)  Yup, turns out the only way to make an honest buck these days is to run a crooked casino.  Too bad he's messing with a friend of Dick Tracy's.  He should have just stuck to the regular busloads of seniors and tourists, then this scam could have gone on indefinitely.  As it stands now, you're living on borrowed time, Jack, so start thinking of an exit strategy.

Why yes, I do indeed have some time to kill.

I miss listening to Histeria! songs.

I could really use some right now.

Forget that chicken and egg thing.

I want to know this: which was named first, fly the insect or fly the action?

He's all confused.

I was under the impression that it was the first day of spring, not Christmas.

Happy Whatever.

Then it really would have been the greatest movie of all time.

James Horner, the man who wrote the music for Titanic also wrote the music for Commando.  Upon learning this, I realized what the music from Titanic was missing: tension building steel drums.  Forget about Celine Dion.  Forget about hearts going on.  Forget about music that would have been appropriate for the time period.  What would have made the action scenes better, what would have upped the tension and danger as the ship sank, what would have produced stronger feelings of anger, love, and sadness, would have been the inclusion of a rhythm played on a steel drum.

Big Trouble In Little Diner.

With the Ken, Patty, and Bucky story pretty much wrapped up (or at least as wrapped up as it's going to be), it's time to move on to the next exciting adventure of everyone's favorite naturalist...eventually.  So far all that's happened is that Mark (in his standard Lost Forest uniform), Cherry (who has abandoned her traditional pink button up shirt for a kicky sweater and turtleneck), and Rusty (dressing in style with a polka dot bandanna) have gone to eat at some diner with the promise of a trip to the camera store to get a new memory card for Rusty's camera.  (I could be wrong, but it also looks like Rusty might have lost a tooth somewhere between the fishing/camping trip and his unexpected absence from the strip while Mark dealt with the swamp and deer business.)  Oh, the excitement of the local diner!  Who will order what?  Do they serve Coke or Pepsi?  How's the Reuben?  Do they have real milkshakes?  How's the pie?  So many questions to answer.  With all of this talk about cameras, could we be building up to Rusty accidentally taking a picture of some kind of illegal activity?  It could be anything, I suppose.  Mobsters dumping a body.  Illegal logging in Lost Forest.  Animal baiting or fighting (again).  Littering.  I know that I can't wait to find out.  
So that's it?  Two guys we've never seen before are worried that some kid they don't know has just accidentally taken their picture in the process of taking a picture of his loving parents, who don't seem to want to sit very close to each other and are more content to lean in than scoot their chairs over?  Who knows what that longshoreman and his golden jacketed buddy did to make them so nervous.  (But really, if they are wanted and didn't want to be seen, the one guy shouldn't have worn a gold jacket and they shouldn't have stopped at the diner.  I think that they want to be caught.)  Now we just have to wait and see what sort of nefarious deeds they committed to make them so nervous about being part of the background of Rusty's picture.

What I miss.

I miss taking notes.

I miss the frantic scramble to get everything down.

I miss the way that my hand would hurt because I was writing for too long, or because I was gripping the pen too tightly.

I miss the random doodles that would appear in the margins during a lull.

I miss the little doodles that would actually have something to do with the information.

I miss the feeling of always being behind and the feeling that I'd never be able to catch up.

I miss unintentionally drifting back and forth between cursive and printing.

I miss the information.

Meow.

The luck of the Slimish?

Looks like trouble for Tracy.  I don't know how receptive old B.O. is going to be to the, "Gambling is ruining your life and you should stop before you lose everything," speech that he had been all set to give, especially since the lucky son of a gun just hit the jackpot.  Could it be that his hat is somehow lucky?  Don't let the word get out about this, otherwise people everywhere will be hunting down Zols and slimes for the sole purpose of putting them on their heads, destroying the species and their natural habitats.  (Come on people, if you don't stand up for them, who will?  Those adventurers, Link and Insert Name Here?  Don't even think about it.  They're just in it for the jewels and money, and they won't stop slaying until the screen no longer refreshes when they walk away and come back seconds later.)  And look,  B.O.'s habit of calling Tracy by something other than his name has returned the moment he sees our valiant detective's shadow.  (Yeah, I had to look that little bit of information up, but hey, at least he calls him a word that rhymes with his name, so that's kind of clever, right?)

Ah, so B.O. has a plan.  (Does it perchance involve steel and mortar and bricks and pie?  No, of course not.)  Why, I know what his plan is and where he got it from: Diamonds Are Forever.  The old guy must have been watching the movie, saw Q use his electro-magnetic RPM controller, and thought that that would be a great way to make a little money.  Of course, he had to go through a testing phase, during which he lost quite a bit of money, prompting Gravel Gertie to give Tracy a call, but now that all the bugs have been worked out, it's nothing but jackpots from here on out.  Of course, his plan does have one weakness: casino security.  See, B.O., casinos don't like to give out too much money, and when someone keeps winning, the powers that be start to get suspicious.  Therefore, I suggest that you either lose a little, or take yourself to another casino, work your magic for a bit, and then move on.  But B.O.'s sudden luck isn't the only revelation in this strip.  In the final panel we're given our first shadowy view of the next criminal mastermind to cross paths with Tracy.  I, for one, can hardly wait to learn his name.

Must we always be counting?

Word counts.  Yes, I know that under certain circumstances they are important.  I know that there are times where you need to have a specific number of words, or a maximum or minimum number of words.  I get that.  I know that.  I've done that.  But there are also times where it shouldn't matter how many words you write so long as you tell the story that you want to tell and are satisfied with the end result.  If you're writing for fun, it shouldn't be about the number of words.  It should be about the story.  (You know, that thing that's been locked up in your head, driving you crazy, that you're trying to communicate to others.)  I guess I'm writing this because at times word count seems to be the main focus, and the actual content of the story is somewhere in the background hanging out and drinking a soda.  I've seen people cheer upon reaching a certain number of words while others lament the fact that they haven't reached it, or that they've had to do some editing and have lost a boatload of the little darlings.  At times there almost seems to be an invisible bar that people set in their minds, and if they drop below that bar, even if they aren't necessarily done with the story they have to tell, they immediately hit the panic button.  (Folks, the only time that you should hit that little button is if your computer crashes and takes with it all of your hard work.  Then you can smash that button to pieces.)  I mean, sure, there is the satisfaction of knowing that you've written that much, and there is the sense of loss when you find yourself deleting a lot of things that you had previously spent so much time on, but if those same things are hurting the good stuff that's staying behind, then they have to go.  You have to bite the bullet and hit delete.  (Besides, if you really cared about that stuff, you would be doing all of the editing in a new copy anyway so that you'd have the old one to look back on fondly, or not so fondly, when you read it again at a later date.)  Trust me on this for I just deleted fifteen of the last eighteen pages of a two hundred page document because things had changed and no longer made sense, and that's not counting the many pages before that that simply had to go.  (Sometimes you just have to cut, especially when you can tell what television program you were watching when you were writing.)  But never fear, for the truth is, that odds are, you'll have other work to do that will help push that count back up into your comfort zone and possibly even surpass it.  Now, all of this is not to say that I think that word counts should be destroyed or abandoned because they do have their place.  I'm just saying that they shouldn't be the be all and end all.  The important thing is to tell the story, and that means telling it right in however many words it takes.  (I'll let you know when I finally figure out how many that is.)

I'm sorry. I got distracted.

I know that I should have been paying attention to what you were saying.

I'm sure that it was all very important.

It's just that I got distracted by what was on one of the screens.

I think I was hoping to see the snake truck because I saw Max and The Humungus.

I didn't see it, though, and missed what you had to say.

I guess I'll have to go back and read it to find out what it was that you said.

Unless what you said isn't in the graphic novel.

Then it's my loss, I guess.

If I learned nothing else, I learned this.

When asked to remember a song from Sesame Street, most people would probably come up with "C Is For Cookie", "Rubber Ducky", or the show's theme song.  Not me.  No, the two songs I am most likely to remember (and randomly break into for no apparent reason) both deal with the same subject: the number 12.  Of the two songs, the one most likely to appear in my mind would have to be the one that accompanies the pinball animation, which pretty much consists of the lyrics, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve."  (I also have to say that I always wished that the pinball game was real and that I owned it.  I also wanted that one ball roller coaster/kinetic sculpture-like thing that actually was real...and you probably have no idea what I'm talking about.  Oh well, moving on.)  Just in case you missed out on this, or just want a bit of nostalgia, here's the pinball machine in all of its glory:

The second, and by no means lesser, song was "The Ladybugs' Picnic."  I always liked it, and while I may not be able to always remember most of the words, I do always remember, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve ladybugs came to the ladybugs' picnic."  I don't know if I ever did see twelve ladybugs at the same time (I'm not counting Asian Lady Beetles), but I always liked the idea of them all getting together for a nice little picnic, especially since the only other ladybug song I knew of consisted of the poor things homes being on fire.  Luckily before that could cause any permanent scars, Sesame Street came along with this cheerful little ditty, and now without any further or due, I present, for your viewing pleasure, "The Ladybugs' Picnic":

Oh Sesame Street, how would I ever remember how to count to twelve without you?

Movie Moments XXI: The Post-Apocalyptic World Survival Guide

        
Step One: Survive the apocalypse.

Step Two: Find junky Ford F-100 pickup, preferably red.

Step Three: Paint giant snake on truck.

This is my plan, and I owe it all to The Road Warrior.  Yes folks, forget about all of those super-charged, cobbled together vehicles that look really cool but ultimately fall apart like they're made of LEGOs.  No, what you really need to survive in the wasteland is a red Ford pickup with a big snake painted on the side.  Not only will you look cool, but you'll also insure that you'll survive the big road race at the end.  This was a fact that I had forgotten about until yesterday when I caught the movie on television.  The moment I saw that truck it all came back to me, and I started to laugh, watching as it was beaten up, run into, and used for all manner of things, but still kept on going so that in the end the survivors of The Humungus' gang were a couple of guys on motorcycles and the snake truck.  Yes, the snake truck.  Over the years it has become probably my favorite vehicle from the Mad Max series because there is no way that it should have survived, and yet it did, and it was still even in relatively good shape, all things considered.

What was cloudy has now become clear.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let me introduce for your viewing pleasure Mr. B.O. Plenty in all of his glory.  Now, right off the bat I see two problems, which combined, make me believe that this case isn't so much about gambling as it is about the fact that B.O. is just plain crazy and sinister forces are at work (with the world hanging in the balance, of course).  The first problem is that it looks like he's talking to a poster.  Now, someone must have seen him do it once, and then set up a slot where he could slip the money in and exchange it for tokens from some other casino that won't work in these machines, leading him to return to the poster for more.  The second, and considerably more worrisome problem is that he either has a Zol from The Legend Of Zelda, or a slime from Crystalis, perched on his head, possibly controlling his every thought and movement.  This can only mean that this is no mere case, but an adventure of epic proportions in which Dick will have to collect obscene amounts of coins and jewels and search vast landscapes and dungeons for hidden swords and other weapons all so that he can either save a princess or save the world (which I suppose would also mean saving the princess who might live in the world).  Yet despite the danger this case poses, Tracy appears to not be taking it too seriously as he seems to be shuffling off to Buffalo.  Then again, the pressure of succeeding could have also caused him to snap, prompting him to think that he's some sort of superhero and thus has to run out of the door after yelling, "Dick Tracy away!"  (I swear he looks like he should be making motor noises as he runs out of that door.)  Tune in next time for the next exciting installment of whatever it is this case is going to actually be about.  (I know I will.)

Ah, the power of the deathbed confession.

So all it took for Ken to realize that he might just have been a little wrong was for him to be gored by a deer.  (That's right folks, he was indeed gored by a deer and I will say it again, I expected there to be more blood, but maybe his jacket was super absorbent.)  I have to say that despite everything he's been through, Ken looks really happy now, offering a chipper hello to Patty when she finally comes to see him in the hospital, which leads me to believe that our good buddy Ken is under the influence of strong hospital drugs.  Then again, maybe not.  Perhaps Ken has just been having a heart to heart talk with the Jack Elrod Ball on his shoulder about how he should turn his life around, how things aren't so bad, and how he's been hurting the ones he loves a la the many heart to heart chats that take place on Dog The Bounty Hunter (only here there won't be any talk of God or Jesus).

Look everyone, it's the Pigeon Of Peace, here to mark the significance of this first positive step in Ken and Patty's relationship!  (What, were you expecting a dove?)  Now, I hope that Ken and Patty don't think that everything is honky-dory now that he's apologized.  Let's not forget that he was jealous of a deer, was going to shoot said deer, and that he hit Patty across the face for defending the deer (and that alone could have warranted them all an appearance on Cops).  No, I think that those two have a little work to do on their marriage, and this might or might not require some professional help (and no, professional help does not include asking Mark for his advice just because he doesn't charge his friends, or letting the Jack Elrod ball hang around with you for a couple of days to make sure that Ken's transition home goes smoothly).  At least it seems that Bucky will be getting another shot at a normal life, assuming that the trapping goes well.  Hopefully he'll just let bygones be bygones and not come back years later, angry and bitter, leading a herd of bloodthirsty deer to finish off the job he started on that isolated trail so long ago.

And we're walking, we're walking, and we're stopping.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our next exhibit: "The History Of The Telephone (Somewhat Out Of Order)."  Not only does this strip begin our next adventure, but it introduces the next characters of note: former criminals Gravel Gertie and her unfortunately named, as yet unseen, husband, B.O. Plenty.  (School must have been really, really rough for that guy.  No wonder he turned to crime.)  Looks like B.O. has developed a bit of a gambling problem and apparently the only one capable of tackling the case is Dick Tracy.  (Remember to fill out the paperwork this time, Tracy)  We can only hope that crooked slots, magnets, and organized crime are somehow involved, and that this will require Dick, and perhaps even Tess, to go undercover to find out what nefarious fiend is behind it all.
Poor B.O.  What with the economy the way it is, gambling just isn't the way to go about staying afloat, especially when you don't appear to be too good at it, or are dealing with a crooked casino.  Add to it the fact that Gertie and B.O. seem to live in outer space (possibly the Moon), where property values have always been astronomical (Sorry.  I had to go there.) and the commute between it and the Earth is hardly cheap.  If B.O. isn't careful, he and Gertie will have to move back to Earth, allowing their Moon mansion to fall into the hands of some vapid celebrity who'll do who knows what with it all the while trying to act like they're just like everyone else.  You can't let that happen, Dick!  You just can't!

(And finally, here's a little bit of trivia for you: a Gravel Gertie is a room designed for the safe inspection, handling, or dismantling of nuclear weapons, and was named after the character.  Don't say that I never tell you anything useful, or at least interesting.)  

No it's not, not really.

I guess this means that Ken wasn't wearing a deer-proof jacket, unless it was merely deer-proof in that it would prevent him from being gored, but not prevent him from getting the wind knocked out or suffering internal injuries.  (However, if it turns out that he was gored, I've got to say that I always thought there would be more blood.)  Anyway, if they're serious about saving Ken, I hope Patty plans to call an ATA (that's an All Terrain Ambulance, by the way) because I don't really see how a regular one could get past the giant tree that's fallen down behind them, presumably blocking the trail.  And speaking of Patty, honey, it's not really your fault.  I mean, yes, it was your pet deer that did it, but you weren't the one to shoot at it and spook it, and you weren't the one to later free the spooked deer, and you certainly didn't intend for Ken to get in its way as it bounded off to freedom (and maybe Ken needed to learn that ever important rule that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time).  Then again, if you continue to cry and sit on your knees while Mark administers rudimentary forest first aid (which seems to amount to taking a pulse), then what happens to Ken could be your fault.  It's time to stand up and pump those crazy legs until they bring you to a phone where you can call the people who can keep this from turning from an unfortunate accident into a tragedy.  Go!  Go!  Go!  

(Or, you can just trust that the Jack Elrod ball, which disappeared after the first panel, is seeking help.  Whatever you think is best.)

It's time to move on to "Plan M."

With Angelorious nothing more than a smoldering corpse, a la Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen from Star Wars, it's finally time to wrap things up.  Poor Tess, it looks like her dreams of a perfume empire aren't going to be realized.  Oh well, I'm sure she'll find something else to do with the neighborhood ladies (and really, didn't we all know that their perfume empire would have inevitably disintegrated due to in-fighting anyway?), or maybe she'll just disappear again, reappearing only when the story requires her presence.  (Tess, we hardly knew ye.)  Alas, Tess is not the only one facing a dilemma, as Dick, who never filed the paperwork and wasn't technically on official police business during this caper, won't be getting paid for any of his hard work.  As a result, he's been forced to return to modeling, striking his "I'm A Little Tea Pot" pose in a snazzy black turtle neck and slacks in an attempt to snap Tess out of her funk.  (Of course, and this might be the result of recently viewing The A-Team episode featuring Boy George, he could also be wearing a dress, but I don't really see Dick as the sort of guy to wear a dress, do you?  Then again, he could also be leaving Tess to become a beatnik.  The fact is, we just don't know.)  The only one who seems to have benefited from this whole ordeal is Dr. Noll (apparently once again forgotten by the CIA Man), who's set to reap the benefits of his fuel formula (unless whoever gets control of it quashes it, or puts a loophole in the contract that gives them full control of the formula forever, forcing the doctor to live in a cardboard box under an overpass).

But wait, there's more!  Dick has just received a phone call!  Surely this will lead to yet another madcap adventure (or at least a nice diversion for the next couple of months).

When worlds collide.

Bucky, driven mad by his new sense of freedom, careens wildly through the forest.  It is as yet unclear as to how the other deer is reacting, and even though we'll probably never know, the poor guy is most likely sinking into the depths of despair as he mourns the loss of his antlers, all the while plotting his revenge on the deer who got to get out of it completely unharmed (and probably started the fight that led to their entanglement).  Seeing her friend bounding away, Patty forgets her senses once again and starts after Bucky, but luckily Mark is there to stiff arm her and talk some sense into her (again).  Meanwhile, Ken, for reasons of his own, has entered the forest in search of Patty, bringing him right into the path of the now mad Bucky. 
Uh oh, someone forgot to tell Ken to stay five miles away from the newly freed deer.  Bucky immediately recognizes him as "that guy who tried to kill me and who made Patty stop being friends with me," and charges.  We can only hope that Ken is wearing some sort of deer-proof jacket (unless you want him to die, then regular old denim it is).  I've watched enough outdoors shows to know that those antlers aren't just for hanging festive Christmas ornaments and garland on, so maybe it's time for Ken to consider taking some evasive actions (though right now it looks like it might be too late, unless he's a Limbo champion, in which case, bend, bend, bend), otherwise, it looks like it might be the end of the line.  Of course, this then raises the question of if Bucky does end up killing Ken, will Patty still be friends with him, or will the action cause her to pick up a gun and end this once and for all?

I'd like to think that it does.

Does the wish still count if it's an eyebrow instead of an eyelash?

Pondering the future.

I want to start something new here.

I have no idea what that will be, but I've got a few ideas.

I am also open to suggestions.

I do not expect to be given any, though.

Sometimes it can't be helped.

Be nice to the imaginary people.  Don't kill too many.

-Anonymous

You must remember this.

The evil empire thinks it's doing the right thing,

and it never refers to itself as the evil empire.