Marmaduke is sleeping on the laps of an elderly couple, each of whom assumed the beast was responsible for the well-being of the other. Octogenerian Marmaduke creator Brad Anderson is here infusing his typical material (large selfish dog, puzzling miss-or-miss jokes masquerading as slice-of-lifeisms (and vice-versa), parade of shamefully lazy and uncredited ghost-artists) with a "write what you know"-style personal slant (early-stage dementia).

Marmaduke will eat anyone who tries to enter his home without saying something Dottie has them memorize, including hastily-sketched women whose clothes aren't all the way shaded in.

Marmaduke is going to eat some donuts. His owner-lady somehow does not realize this was a foregone conclusion the moment they were brought into the house, and it may end up costing her her life.

Whoever taught visual perspective to the ghost-artist Marmaduke creator Brad Anderson gave a handful of nickels and penny-candy to draw today's strip should be burned at the stake.

special "Choose Your Own Joe Mathlete Explains Today's Marmaduke" edition

Marmaduke (bought / stole / is borrowing) five lollipops from a store called the Candy Box to (eat / sell on the black market / give to several of his bastard children in lieu of child support). A concerned and tie-wearing candy salesman places a phone call to a Mrs. Winslow, who is (his supervisor at the candy store / a left-wing candy conservation lobbyist in Washington / Marmaduke's owner-lady, whose surname name I have been unaware of for the thirteen months or so I've been amusing myself with this bullshit), referring to the lollipops as "suckers" because (it is the standard industry term / he is mildly retarded / octogenarian Marmaduke creator Brad Anderson refuses to adjust his comic strip's vocabulary to reflect that it is no longer the 1940s).

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Up next: embroidered napkins? God, I hope not.