Marmaduke's hubris prevents him from conceding defeat to his echo.

Marmaduke's breath should smell good because he ate his fat elderly neighbor-lady's scented candles and now his breath should smell the way that candles smelled (good). All we can tell for certain is that Marmaduke is full of sparkly magic fairy dust.

STOP

STOP IT

JESUS CHRIST STOP IT

THE MOONWALK GOES BACKWARDS

THERE IS NO HOPPING INVOLVED

NONE

BRAD ANDERSON WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

WHAT ARE THE DOGCATCHERS EVEN TALKING ABOUT AND WHY IS THEIR TRUCK FLOATING

MARMADUKE LOOKS SO HORRIFYING

JESUS FUCK STOP IT

I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU

WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS

EVERYTHING YOU CREATE IS CANCER AND MADNESS

HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE

Marmaduke is having a staring contest. Marmaduke's owner-lady does not know what some things, like staring contests, are called.

Sunday Edition

I think it's almost enough to just post Sunday installments of Marmaduke without comment.

"Lazy" and "senile" are not satisfactory excuses; you would have to be missing a chromosome to create this and think you have just crafted an acceptable comic strip. Having said that, I do like how Marmaduke's owner-man is drawn wearing a puffy chef's hat while grilling steaks in his backyard, thus eliminating any potential confusion as to what he is actually doing.