Science teaches us that breaking the sound barrier has many interesting consequences. One of them is apparently turning young children into Borscht-belt Yiddish comedians, as it has seemingly done to Chris.
"Vhere is my gefilte fish? Oy vey!" But is he exclaiming or asking a question? I am supposed to know?!
The next panel has a certain strange evanescent beauty to it. Ah, watching a dog roar on the horizon and violate all space and time. It's like a poem by Basho! Or Jewel!
There goes a dog
Oh, it thrills my heart
Just a black star
On the horizon
Some day soon
I'll sell that dog
On the black market
And fix my gross teeth
Of course, we can't end a JOHNSON FOLLIES without the usual wild, unrestrained mugging.
Mark utters "Help?" with a question mark because let's admit it if you were riding bareback on a supersonic doggie you'd never want to be rescued either. Sure, you'll burn up on re-entry, but wasn't the stretched cheek skin and Nixon impersonation worth it?
Then there's Greg. "YIIIIIIIIIIII!"
Sheesh. What a pussy.