What A Twist... Is What I Would Say If This Wasn't Completely Predictable.

It's the Day's Day of Days! Because Knowing Me, Knowing You.

You know, as everything goes exactly as we expected, it's worth noting that Muir's immigrant hordes are essentially depicted with the photographic negative of Muir's own sexual hangups. Where Muir depicts his own obsession with women's bodies as simply natural, and his own misogyny as a proper views arrived at through reason, the hordes are dangerous, reactionary sexual threats. Because, of course, in his mind, Muir can't see how he'd be a threat to women, while being unable to imagine his immigrants as anything but just that.

*Sinister Musical Sting!*

 It's the Day's Day of Days! Because jump for my love.

There is something simultaneously creepy, comical and pathetic about the way that once you enter Muir's 'Not White' spectrum--aside from a few tokens so he can 'not racist'--you're just part of an indistinct blob that he imagines as functionally identical, a brown-skinned wrecker who just wants to rape and ruin. Indians look just like Mexicans, look just like Muslims, because, well, they're all about the same, right?

An impoverished view from an impoverished mind that imagines dragging the entire nation down to its level would strengthen it, instead of ruin it.

She's Proud To Be A Nativist Southerner, Yes, She Is!

It's the Day's Day of Days! Because James Nasmith.

At this point, I'm starting to wonder if we're about to get the revelation that being Irish is no longer sufficiently White in the Muirverse.

Admit it, it tracks.

A Mind Stuck In Third-Rate 1980s Sex Comedies.

It's the Day's Day of Days! Because a gun of the long-ass variety.

At this point, "Muir's mind is stuck at the age of twelve" isn't a thesis, it's the essential key to understanding a good 3/4s of the strip.