Archive for the 'Rex Morgan, M.D.' Category

For Better Or For Worse, 11/19/09

I’ve been staring at this vintage Foob strip for a while, trying to figure out if the seatbelts have been only been drawn in for 21st century reprint purposes. I kind of think they have been, especially based on the final panel, where Ellie’s shoulder strap sort of vanishes abruptly at the edge of her shoulder rather than fading into the zip-a-tone murk as one might expect, and Michael’s lap belt and shoulder strap stay wrapped around him despite his being dragged bodily into the next seat. So, yeah, neither of them were wearing seatbelts when this strip was drawn, presumably in the late 1970s or early 1980s, and that’s OK! It was the style at the time! I can distinctly remember that when I was roughly Michael’s age here — an age at which, I assume, a child today would be lashed into a rear-facing car seat — we had a peppy Plymouth Champ, with a buzzer that would go off if the passenger seatbelt wasn’t fastened; so, my mom would let me fasten it before I got in the car and then I would just sit on top of it. And that was totally normal! She didn’t want me to die or anything! One can be nostalgic for an earlier time with, though you probably wouldn’t be if you had a kid who died in a car accident because they weren’t strapped down properly. Still, does it make me a monster if I wish that newly regenerated young Michael were cruising along unsecured as his mother attempts to drive under the influence of whatever the 1970s Canadian equivalent of NyQuil was? Because we’ve seen what’s in store for him, and maybe it would be better if he just went face-first into that lovingly rendered radio.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/19/09

Ha ha, hilarious fisticuffs delivered! It appears that Tim is rapidly devolving into some kind of feral monster; poor Cue is right to be scared! Unfortunately, if his crib wasn’t capable of keeping out a couple of deranged old people, it certainly won’t provide shelter from whatever kind of violent, hideous gnome Tim has become. I know that sometimes if men act heroic and protective it will cause the ladies to swoon, Tim, but I think Becka will cease to be aroused right around the time you start chewing off Cue’s face.

Lockhorns, 11/19/09

I’m assuming this is one of those “I walked into a doorway” domestic violence cover-up stories, because I’ve never actually seen Leroy and Loretta in church. And really, why would they go? Why would they worship any deity who has placed them into a universe of such intense and unmitigated misery?

Mary Worth, 11/19/09

Normally statements along the lines of “my life was an empty desert of existential meaninglessness until I started nurturing new life inside my uterus” enrage me, but I’m willing to allow it here on the off chance that Delilah is subtly trying to insult the childless Mary Worth. “Mary, don’t you wish you had come to your senses sooner … before your once bountiful womb became withered and barren?” Thus perhaps this isn’t a Delilah-centered story we’re starting; rather, she may just be returning in a cameo to put the real plot in action. Just as Tommie the Tweaker reappeared just to prove that Ella Bird’s psychic powers were legit, so too will Delilah’s child-bearing smugness primarily serve to send Mary into a funk that she can only solve one way: by forcing Dr. Jeff to steal a baby for her.

Mark Trail, 11/18/09

Here’s a question for you: am I spoiled by Mark Trail? I mean, yes, this is the sort of wordless action strip that makes the feature worth reading, and yes, Mark has waded into the swamp to deliver a crushing blow to an alligator’s mouth, without regard for his personal safety, in order to save his mutant ward’s whiny little dog. I should just be able to sit back and enjoy it! And yet … well, he’s not using his fists, is he? He’s using a tool to do his fighting for him. Sure, for an ordinary human punching an alligator would be a recipe for certain death, but Mark is not ordinary, and may not even be human. When his violent righteousness turns on the poachers, as it inevitably will, will Mark think, “Hey, I am already holding this stick! It helped me beat the alligator — maybe it will help me defeat these men as well!” And once there’s an intermediary object between Mark and his targets, well, it’s all downhill from there. The next think you know, he’ll be suing them, or writing angry letters to the editor about their misdeeds.

Gil Thorp, 11/18/09

Today is the day that reveals the true shape of Gil Thorp’s football season B-plot: it’s Cyrano de Bergerac, if Cyrano were a band geek, and instead of feeding love poetry to Christian he just gave him recaps of high-school volleyball games, and while watching the whole drama you kept waiting for the action to switch back to Christian’s teammate’s brother in prison. Still, I have a feeling that Valerie will learn that the person who really enjoyed watching her play volleyball was a slightly cross-eyed clarinet player, and true love will blossom at last!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/18/09

You know, I really and truly would have been delighted if the whole Becka-Tim side story ended up being entirely tangental to the plot, with Cue successfully negotiating the return of the wayward oldsters with the crooked nursing home operator while Becka fended off Tim’s ham-handed advances. But now it appears that the two narrative threads will finally meet, so I’m hoping that the fisticuffs between the exceptionally dim small-time marijuana dealer and the socially awkward fishing magazine writer will at least be kind of hilarious.

Apartment 3-G, 11/18/09

“Kitchen staff” no doubt sets alarm bells off in Ari’s head. “Wait, she used to be rich, and now the only person she can afford to exploit to get her meds is me? Danger, danger!”

(By the way, if you’re trying woo a pill-popper with rice pudding in actual New York, might I suggest Rice to Riches at 37 Spring Street in Manhattan? YUMMY!)

Gil Thorp, 10/30/09

I may not be the most knowledgeable guy in the world when it comes to football — I lost all my play money in my family’s NFL pool by the end of week four this year — but I know enough to know that generally when one of your guys runs a punt back 98 yards for a touchdown, that’s a good thing, right? And yet there’s Coach Kaz, looking horrified and flapping his hands around theatrically. I suppose it’s not considered classy to run up the score when you’re already winning by more than two touchdowns in the fourth quarter, and we’re going learn some Valuable Lessons About Sportsmanship.

In a larger sense, I’m finally figuring out that there are really only two basic story-driving Mudlark character types: troubled loners and loudmouth jerks. And in this year’s football storyline we’re getting one of each! In SAT analogy terms, Duncan Daley:Cully Vale::Jamarr Gaddis:Andrew Gregory.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/30/09

Oh, man, just when I thought I couldn’t love Cue any more, what with his shiny bald head, his general attitude right on the border between menace and dyspepsia, and his continued and reckless use of the word “crib,” it turns out that he’s also a small-time pot dealer! “Take it easy man … I just called to get some weed” shall be solemnly inscribed in the book of Greatest Rex Morgan Quotes Ever; it certainly compares favorably to “Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to kill your buzz” for soap opera drug lingo verisimilitude. Now, you might think that Cue is being pretty selfless, passing up an opportunity to profit from the sale of illegal narcotics in order to bring these poor souls back to their home, but he’s actually thinking strategically. Someone in his line of work would love to have contact with a group of people who are largely idle all day, have a little bit of money, and don’t particularly care about any damage they might do to their short-term memory. Yes, sir, this trip’s gonna be lucrative for ol’ Cue, reward or no.

For Better Or For Worse, 10/30/09

Today is the day when I break my blood oath to ignore the pure rerun installments of FBOFW on this blog. I do so because I am so very, very amused by the title of the girlie magazine that John is reading not ten feet away from his wife in panel three. What sort of photography, pray tell, graces the inside pages of Nacho Man? Are there pictures of nearly nude ladies, their most intimate parts concealed only by a thick, gelatinous layer of melted nacho cheese? Are there sexy photo spreads featuring other popular bar foods, like chicken wings or mozzarella sticks? The mind boggles, and one ought to be thankful that we can clearly see both of John’s hands. Also of note is the ad on the back of this fine publication for Lion Tamer cologne, which, I assume, smells of sawdust, circus peanuts, panicked sweat, and lion shit.

Crock, 10/30/09

I kind of love the miserable expression on the face of Anonymous Legionnaire On The Left in panel two. It’s as if he knows that he will only appear in this one strip, and that his only purpose in his mayfly-brief existence is to elicit the punchline for this awful, awful joke, but despite that terrible self-knowledge, he is incapable of stopping himself.

Apartment 3-G, 10/26/09

Oh my goodness, is flowzy floozy Bobbie Merrill trying to worm her way into my heart, or does this sort of behavior just come naturally to the pill-addled blonde? She knows how the world works, of course — you send a gift basket to the crooked head-shrinker who’ll write a script for whatever it is you’re jonesing for when you show off some ankle; that much is given. But that doesn’t mean that she has to like how the sordid game is played, or that she has to make nice with the gift basket industry that profits from these little social niceties or the concierges who piggyback on for the ride and expect their own cut. No, Bobbie has bigger fish to fry, and by “bigger fish” she means “a tractor-trailer full of Ambien,” and by “fry” she means “rob at gunpoint.”

Mark Trail, 10/26/09

You know what would be completely hilarious and rad? If Mark were really serious about leaving the swamp tomorrow without even a cursory attempt to track down the poachers vigilante-style and punch them. “Sorry, fellas, I’m on vacation! You can kill and skin all the alligators you want, see if I care.”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/26/09

Wait a minute, Baldy “Punk Rocker” “Earrings” McPunky O’Thug’s real name (or real nickname) is Cue? As in a cue ball, which is white and spherical, much like Cue’s head? This is the greatest moment in Rex Morgan Sinister Bad Guy Billiards-Related Naming since the appearance of a black drug dealer named Eightball.

Presumably Cue will learn from his offscreen media-savvy friend that there’s a big reward out for these runaways, and will heroically drive them back to their substandard nursing home, where he’ll be lauded at a press conference and receive the key to the city from the mayor. Meanwhile, Becka and Tim will continue to drive aimlessly around soggy golf courses, staying out so late that Becka’s husband will suspect her of infidelity, leading to further marital turmoil, divorce, and emotional anguish. You may think that sounds harsh, but I want every non-Cue, non-Alzheimers-afflicted character in this story to suffer terribly. Even Rex and June should be punished, for abandoning us to this mess.

Funky Winkerbean, 10/26/09

“Things can always get worse” = the new Funky Winkerbean mission statement, obviously. The only question: is that cop ringing the doorbell to announce that Cory’s dead, or that one or more people are dead because Cory killed them?

Mary Worth, 10/23/09

My goodness, is Mary actually admitting that (a) she once didn’t know everything and (b) she once had the capacity for love? This is like hearing Satan mention that he once attended junior high school. Anyway, this anecdote seems to be going to some kind of “and then he died” place that can’t possibly make Adrian feel any better. “So during one of these periods when I was punishing him with my silence for his transgressions, he was killed in a shootout when his police unit was raiding an opium den. I felt terrible about it, for a week or so, but then it passed! What I’m trying to say, dear, is that if you make your heart an icy stone, nothing can hurt you.”

My Cage, 10/23/09

My goodness, I have to admit that when Jeff’s son mentioned yesterday that he’d be playing a character from a comic strip in his school play, Masky McDeath never once occurred to me as a possible candidate. Well played, Ed Power, writer of My Cage! Let us know what it’s like waking up tomorrow with Lisa’s tumor-ridden head in your bed.

Pluggers, 10/23/09

Having already absorbed hipsters and hippies into their collective, pluggers have settled on their next target: preppies. It’s pretty clear now that nobody is safe, and those of us who refuse to settle for life as folksy, semi-literate furries need to start preparing for the final, apocalyptic war for survival.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/23/09

Can’t you just hear the little metaphorical lightbulb switching on over Earrings O’Punk’s shaved, off-screen noggin in the final panel in this strip? I certainly hope the denouement of this plot finds him at the crooked old folks home, feigning dementia to score free meals. He deserves a happy ending, as he’s by far the most sympathetic character in this storyline.

Marmaduke, 10/23/09

Marmaduke’s owner was hoping that he would “take care” of the town’s homelessness problem by going down to the shelter and devouring all the hapless hobos. Instead, he’s assembled a pack of stray dogs who will urinate on every single piece of furniture that his owners possess.

Jumble, 10/22/09

If you remember the first batch of WWMMD pictures, you knew that eventually I’d be put in chains at the behest of a corrupt justice system in the Jumble. You can see by my face that I’m shocked at this miscarriage of justice. How could I possibly be found guilty, when I know that I’m innocent? Does my snappy Fist O’ Justice shirt count for nothing? What monstrous jury pool would be capable of such cruelty? Faithful readers, while newspaper readers only got part of the story, I am authorized to share with you the entire courtroom scene:

I … I know I should have hired a lawyer with more courtroom experience. I’m pretty sure he was just doodling on his legal pads all through voir dire.

Blondie, 10/22/09

Here’s the thing, Blondie: If you don’t want to draw attention to your status as an ancient relic from another decade, it may be best not to build a strip around the fact that your main character usually struts about in an outfit that nobody in living memory has worn outside of the most formal situations, and you’ll particularly want avoid equipping him with another set of clothes that, despite his cheery statements to the contrary, would not make anyone in his probable 35-to-50 age range feel “young.” Nevertheless, I’m willing to give you a pass because chubby Dithers in a Nehru jacket is in fact pretty hilarious.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/22/09

So earlier this week, I noted that it would be an amusing improvement on the current RMMD storyline if Tim proved to be a sinister kidnapper. However, I’m even more pleased at the current plot direction into horrible social discomfort. Now that Peanuts is no longer being produced, there are very few places in the comics where you can see painful interpersonal awkwardness so deliciously drawn out until it makes you cringe. I look forward to the next several days’ worth of strips after this clumsy pass consisting mostly of silence — frosty in the passenger seat, humiliated on the driver’s side.

Apartment 3-G, 10/22/09

Speaking of awkwardness, this Apartment 3-G storyline is just getting better and better. Remember, the funniest Tommie storylines are the ones where she’s casually insulted!

Slylock Fox, 10/22/09

I’m assuming the parents in these Six Differences panels have commissioned some kind of report from their children on the pros and cons of various domestic pets. Despite their big smiles, I can’t imagine they’re all that pleased to see that the kids are just drawing on big pieces of paper. What is this, the ’80s? If you really want to make an impression, you want to set up a PowerPoint presentation, with animal clip art and ungrammatical bullet points about why dogs and/or cats are awesome. How do you kids expect to succeed as white-collar drones? Sorry, you’re getting a turtle.