Marmaduke does not understand how restaurants work.

Marmaduke writer/artist Brad Anderson is recycling a joke from exactly four days ago. Either he has the short term memory of a mildly senile octogenarian who regularly uses mind-altering substances, or he is incredibly lazy and gives his readership no credit whatsoever.

Also, Owner-Lady has been listening to the Cure a lot lately.

Marmaduke and Owner-Boy prepare to spin their afternoon shenanigans to Owner-Lady. Owner-Boy indicates that the truly upsetting mischief didn't occur until after the authorities had intervened. Owner-Lady is still dressed in her "Ms. Frumpy 1974" Halloween costume from last night.

Marmaduke is chasing some dog catchers, and not the other way around. That little "pop" you just heard was your mind being TOTALLY FUCKING BLOWN.

Marmaduke's owner man mocks the great beast's home heating solution, failing to consider that installing fiberglass insulation in a doghouse is infinitely less practical or sensible than just moving the doghouse someplace warmer. Chances are Owner Man is just upset that he doesn't get to park his car in the garage anymore.

Marmaduke will be damned if he's going to let his owner-family enjoy a worry-free vacation.

Marmaduke is pursuing a vacuum cleaner possessed of tremendous speed, independent mobility, and a power cord of apparently infinite length. Of these properties, a behatted onlooker finds only the former worth remarking upon.