Mark Trail, 9/23/14
Hey, remember Jacob Hickman, the anti-poaching activist who sat out this entire Mark Trail poaching storyline with a sprained ankle? He’s still talking, apparently! And introducing his entire team of fellow anti-poachers, who also didn’t help Mark out. How long are we supposed to sit still for this nonsense? “I’m a bit of an survivalist!” says the guy who never had to shove a flaming branch into a hippo’s maw or behead a snake or listen to a guy with a flattop talk about his relationship troubles and also demand to be called ‘Dirty’ even once.
Apartment 3-G, 9/23/14
So, we’re really, really going to do this? Just a week of Jack and Carol talking to each other, huh? OK, well, uh, let’s look on the bright side, Jack promised when he left that he was going to commune with the spirits of the dead, so at least we’ll get some creepy action out of WAIT WHAT DAMN IT JACK
Judge Parker, 9/23/14
WHEW, at least something is happening in Judge Parker, if by “something” you mean “the Spencer-Drivers are going to motor off onto the highway in their enormous, gas-guzzling, almost certainly non-road-legal motor home.” Seeing terrified poors driving their adorable li’l compact cars into ditches to avoid being smeared all over the interstate by the Road Queen ought to be good for a laugh or two! By the way, Sam, you bought that thing because you and Abbey abruptly decided you wanted one, for sex purposes, and then the first RV dealership you went to was about to go bankrupt and so sold you one dirt cheap.
Slylock Fox, 9/22/14
We’ve seen this courtroom drama before, and back then I was interested in the sad picture it painted of the animal justice system: the injured Slylock meekly giving his testimony, almost cringing as the bull and his sharp-toothed lawyer grin confidently, secure in the knowledge that this case is going their way despite the facts. Today I’m more intrigued by those facts, or at least the presentation of them here, and what they say about the post-animapocalytic world. Are we meant to understand that the Great Change altered so many things about the world’s bovines — not only making them sapient, but also transforming them from quadrupeds to bipeds and granting them front-facing stereo vision to boot — and yet still left them color blind? Moreover, how exactly did the entirely human urban legend about bulls being enraged by red come to be believed by animal-dom at large? Were images of bullfights perhaps used during the Bestial Revolution to rile up anti-human sentiment? At any rate, this provides more evidence that Slylock Fox takes place in the first generation of so of the post-human reality, as the animals are slowly learning about each other … and about themselves.
Congratulations, Crock: for a strip with exceptionally crude art, you’ve sure managed to pack a lot of deeply unsettling emotion in the face of the Legionnaire in the second panel here. Does Butt Stew contain meat from a butt, or stuff that came out of a butt, or something even more disturbing? You don’t want to know, but he wants to spend the whole rest of the afternoon grinning smugly about just how much you don’t want to know.
Apartment 3-G, 9/22/14
NO DON’T TAKE YOUR TIME GO VERY QUICKLY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE GOING TO GET ANOTHER WEEK OF THIS STORYLINE
This week’s Marvin plot has involved Marvin’s parents taking him on a cruise and Marvin’s dad contemplating various ways to get rid of the awful hell-baby who’s cramping their style, up to and including just dumping him in the ocean. Today, Marvin is mysteriously absent, so presumably he’s been put into the ship’s Babysitting Isolation Chamber or something, giving Jeff the opportunity to remind Jenny that they had sex at some point in the past. Has Marvin’s absence really lulled him into complacency? Has he forgotten what those previous sexual acts produced? They produced Marvin, Jeff. MARVIN. Jenny knows. Jenny remembers. Jenny would rather her flesh be scoured from her bones by the unforgiving mid-sea sun than risk producing another baby from the same genetic template.
Apartment 3-G, 9/19/14
“I mean, I’ve always been fascinated by the weird colletions of guts and goo inside the fleshsacks and bonecages that came into the hospital, and was pretty good at repairing damage and killing off unwanted parasitic organisms, but it turns out I’m supposed to care about these meatslabs? Like, they’re living, thinking beings, just like I am, apparently? Who knew? Shoveling horse manure on this farm has really taught me a lot about myself. Specifically, it taught me I should go into pathology so I can tinker with the dead ones down in the morgue and not have to worry about anyone’s so-called ‘emotions.’”