Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/1/15
Oh, boy, as noted by Uncle Lumpy, deranged industrialist/nanny-marrier Milton Avery is back in the strip! When we last saw Milton a few years back in a plot I seem to have not covered in particular depth, his heart was on the verge of exploding because of his tightly wound business asshole lifestyle. After being vaguely threatening towards Rex for no good reason, it turned out that his real worry wasn’t over his heart, but his brain, which he was convinced was failing him. “You don’t have Alzheimer’s Disease until Rex says you do,” Heather declared, and I don’t remember if Rex weighed in one way or the other but today it’s pretty clear that he has Alzheimer’s Disease, or at least some other flavor of dementia. Looks like we’ve already found the excitiment of this new plot: can a senile and extremely wealthy man’s legal team keep him out of jail after he stabs a household employee to death?
Ha ha, yes, phones certainly do have a soporific effect that can smooth out conflict but also the passion of a life truly lived in the moment and OH MY GOD WHY IS THERE A PHONE IN FRONT OF THAT WEDGE OF SWISS CHEESE? Is the cheese alive? Has the Heathcliff creative team decided that, since all animals, predator and prey, are fully sapient in the strip, why not extend this to inanimate objects? Is every Heathcliff panel full of individual consciousnesses embedded in everything, fully aware, unable to communicate, and screaming?
Apartment 3-G, 7/18/15
The “Stonewall” Margo is talking about here is not the legendary Greenwich Village bar where the modern gay rights movement began, but rather some sort of English country house that fake psychic Diane was pushing as a setting for Margo’s parents’ wedding in a plot point from five months ago that you probably already forgot. Like everything else that’s happening in the current “baffling dreamscape” iteration of Apartment 3-G, this plot twist makes sense so long as you don’t think about any of the details in any way. Like, the UK isn’t exactly one of the cheaper real estate markets in the world, so I’m pretty sure a manor fancy enough to be on “that British show about some Abbey” would go for a lot more for $50,000, or even £50,000. Also, would just the prospect of Martin and Gabriella renting this place for their wedding suddenly cause it to quintuple in value? I mean, I know Martin is supposed to be super-rich, but, uhhhhhh.
Sure, Crankshaft’s whole thing is that he’s a loathsome asshole and that’s why this strip is unbearable, but I admit I kind of like it when he’s a loathsome asshole during his son-in-law’s attempts to bond with him. “That’s for the theater. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I let my daughter marry a guy who makes theater comments at sporting events. You’re repugnant and you sicken me.”
Ha ha, Heathcliff made an extremely transparent medical marijuana joke! You know, this could explain a lot about this comic’s specific brand of low-grade, vaguely surreal whimsy.
Hey y’all, I’m off on an east coast trip to see friends and family! Your Uncle Lumpy will be here for some non-fundraising fill-in action for a week and change. See you on Wednesday the 29th!
Mark Trail, 7/14/15
Look upon panel three, O Mark Trail readers, for here is a chunk of exposition of which you will not see the amazing like again for months, if not years. “Good thinking, Mark,” says the professional wordsmith, “I am aware that Doc is a veterinarian!” There are two potential explanations for this that make the slightest sliver of sense: either Mark goes into Doc’s veterinary bona fides whenever he brings him up in conversation, and Bill is cutting him off so he doesn’t have to listen to 20 minutes of blah blah about Doc’s MCAT scores and how he settled on the Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine, again; or Bill made an embarrassing error on this topic earlier and is covering up for it. “Ha ha, yes, of course I am aware that Doc is a veterinarian! 100% aware of that fact. And someone who knew that definitely wouldn’t have sent Doc a bunch of emails trying to convince him to prescribe Adderall, would he? Definitely not!”
A quick glance at Spidey’s awkward position atop this bat-glider (side note: should Batman sue Hobgoblin for appropriation of the bat- prefix?) shows that it’s not his feet that he needs to squeeze closer together, but his thighs and calves, which is pretty obviously what he’s doing in panel two. Not sure why he doesn’t say this; maybe the syndicate is trying to desperately draw attention away from the blatant humping going on here? Also, I’m not an engineer or anything, but I’m thinking that damaging the exhaust pipe of this contraption won’t so much slow it down as give the rocket’s output nowhere to go and possibly cause the whole thing to explode, which may not be the best outcome for our hero, but hey, let’s watch this play out.
“And in unrelated news, there’s a lot of hair on my cat’s chin! But let’s go back to talking about why your husband isn’t interested in you sexually and never has been.”