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Mark Trail, 12/15/08
A couple of months back, I posited that this could in fact be the ultimate Mark Trail storyline, including as it does all of the strip’s favorite plot devices — gentle forest hermits, rapacious mustachioed developers, a “hot” chick who wants to do Mark, terrible pet-napping hillbillies with sinister designs and stupid names, etc. In fact, there’s only been really one major Trail bugaboo missing, and that’s Indian artifact smuggling! So naturally Mark, in an attempt to fit his terrible ordeal in with the nature of the world he knows, assumes that Salty and his gang are “smugglers of some sort” (hint: the sort that smuggle PRICELESS INDIAN ARTIFACTS!) despite no evidence pointing in that direction. Maybe they’re just run-of-the-mill baddies who tie up local irritants on their disused shrimp boat, then fall asleep, for money!
Also absent in this storyline, up until today: a word balloon emanating from Andy’s crotch. So, there’s that.
Mary Worth, 12/15/08
Poor Lynn is starved for the human affection conveyed by simple hug, since everyone in her life (“everyone” consisting entirely of her father, ever since he had the brake lines cut on Greg’s brother’s car) is repulsed by such niceties as “physical contact.” Our heartbroken skater calculates (probably correctly) that Mary is in the “no touch” club, so in panel one she skillfully feints a dramatic pose against a convenient tree before pivoting and hurling herself into Mary’s arms. I give it a 9.8 (ideally her left arm would have come in below Mary’s right).
Another possibility is that Lynn is speaking literally when she says that her heart stopped when she heard about Greg’s death; this whole boring story was meant only to lull Mary into complacency, and now Zombie Lynn will lunge at her victim and feast on her brains.
Hagar the Horrible, 12/15/08
Oh, Hagar the Horrible, what a pretty and atmospheric winter scene you have for us here! It almost seems petty to point out that you seem to have forgotten to include a punchline of any sort in today’s strip.
Mother Goose and Grimm, 12/15/08
This is today’s Mother Goose and Grimm. It’s about dog-on-tree necrophilia! Yes, Ralph, it’s no coloring error that those hearts above your head are inky black, as your love for Lana is dirty and shameful.
Mark Trail, 12/14/08
Kudos to Mark Trail for blowing the lid off of the weird little world of the chickadee! These birds stay active in the bleak, cold winter hellscape that most of their feathered cousins are clever enough to flee for warmer climes. Mark claims to be able to read the feelings of these non-English-speaking little creatures, saying that they’re “never depressed” by having to stay north all winter, but their behavior seems to tell a different story. As he describes it, they want nothing more than your handouts, and once they start getting them, they lose all sense of personal initiative, becoming nothing more than avian hobos, hopping around in your backyard begging for your scraps — and doomed by their own dependency if you grow bored with their antics. This seems to me to be indicative of a very poor self-esteem that doesn’t jibe with the cheery demeanor that Mark is trying sell us.
Kudos also to my alma mater for hosting a bird-related Web site from which Mark Trail can crib valuable ornithological information! Keep coming back to birds.cornell.edu for such bird-related headlines as “The Long Trek of the Bar-tailed Godwit”.
Mary Worth, 12/14/08
Here’s a little clue to help you get situated in Mary Worth: no matter who’s talking, it’s all about them. Thus we get to the climax of Lynn’s sad story: her friend Greg, whom her dad forced her to shun, was killed in a car accident, his brother behind the wheel. Would he still have died if Lynn hadn’t broken off their friendship? Obviously not! Was his horrible, untimely death intended to break her heart and serve as a direct rebuke against Lynn’s father? Of course it was! Greg’s family was probably broken up about it too or whatever, but the important thing about it is that it sent Lynn into a downward spiral that has affected her skating.
The shocking punchline to Lynn’s tale has sent Mary into head-wobbling palpitations in the final panel. This is not because she shudders in empathy for the young skater (ha ha, like you even need me to say that) but because the mention of death by car crash has given rise to intrusive feelings of guilt concerning her part in Aldo Kelrast’s fiery demise. Once she manages to suppress these feelings back into her Shame Place, she will be taking this out on Lynn, obviously.
With today’s strip’s epigraph, quirky outsider musician Daniel Johnston joins Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova on the list of Indie Rock Darlings You Never, Ever Thought You’d See Mentioned In Mary Worth.
Marvin, 12/14/08
Anyone who doubts that St. Nick really is a saint need only take a look at the second panel of today’s Marvin, in which he continues to display a cheery disposition despite being immediately adjacent to the strip’s titular hell-infant in full-on screaming mode. We’ll see if that crinkle-eyed smile persists after he receives all sixteen yards of Marvin’s illegible, saliva-fouled Christmas list.
Family Circus, 12/14/08
Phase one of PJ’s plan — confining his siblings in an enclosed space that would be difficult to escape from quickly — had gone perfectly. Operation Only Child was well on its way to a bloody but triumphant conclusion.
Dick Tracy, 12/14/08
Dick Tracy has moved on from the “lives shattered and corpses mangled” section of the storyline to the “valuable lessons learned” portion. Liz’s ham-handed soliloquy — “Yes, Tracy, robots have a place in police work” — sounds like the sort of self-congratulatory statement you’d hear when someone in an after-school special overcomes terrible prejudice, though in this case that prejudice is against improbable, l33t-speaking robots that despite their crime-fighting value will have only occasional appearances in future installments of this strip.
Meanwhile, in typical Dick Tracy mangled-time fashion, the final panel of the last three strips has consisted of Diet Smith offering then refusing to help Dick’s wife over the phone. This is unfortunate, because it has forced us to repeatedly look at the inventor’s grotesque baby-like face.
Beetle Bailey, 12/13/08
Say, what’s more embarrassing than having only three comics acknowledge your 90th anniversary? Having a fourth add its own feeble contribution nearly three weeks after the fact, of course! That 19-day gap is, to the best of my knowledge, shorter than the lead time for strip publication, so it’s not like Walker-Browne Amalgamated Humor Enterprises LLC saw those tribute strips on November 24 and suddenly lurched into action, but I can’t offer an alternative explanation for this delayed tribute. Perhaps there’s some dispute as to the actual launch date of the strip back in the mists of time, and we’ll be seeing tributes to Gasoline Alley’s continued zombie existence dribbling out over the comics pages for weeks to come.
Ziggy, 12/12/08
Here’s a disturbing trend in Ziggy (more disturbing even than the fact that bankrupt newspapers everywhere continue to pay good money for Ziggy): two days in a row of someone/something in the background doing something ill-drawn and mysterious, while Ziggy sports his Eyebags Of Despair (today accented with the Crooked Mouth Of Anguish). I guess the “joke” here is that Ziggy has had his heart-boxer-wearing ways revealed by some TSA goon, who, in unrelated news, is spectacularly high. Ziggy is humiliated by this, for some reason! It is curious, however, that Ziggy is even packing underwear in his suitcase, considering he never wears anything below the waist. Perhaps his excuse for his constant pantslessness is “But I don’t own any pants! Or underwear!” And now he’s been caught in that lie, and everyone knows he’s just an exhibitionist pervert.
(Most of us are not so shy about our underwear pattern choices, but whatever.)
Mark Trail, 12/12/08
Andy is untying Mark’s bonds. By, you know, licking them. Licking them. That … that. Wow. He’s licking the knots open. I don’t think … I … wow. Just. Yeah. Um.
Apartment 3-G, 12/12/08
“Whoa, sarcasm!” That is the high point of this little exchange, which sits at a roughly fifth-grade-level, both in terms of the quality of the wit and of the grasp of America’s innocent-until-proven-guilty legal system. Still, I’m becoming increasingly fascinated by Margo’s collar; like a cobra’s hood, it flares out angrily when external threats present themselves.
Cleats, Ziggy, and Mary Worth, 12/11/08
Cleats has spent the last few weeks introducing Svanhildur, aka “Swan Battle,” aka “the Gunk of Cleats.” I would like to believe that I don’t actually follow Cleats closely enough to notice when new characters are introduced, but I’m afraid that idea has now been conclusively disproven. Anyway, Edith mocks the idea that swan battles are part of everyday experience; however, my understanding is that swans are merely fancy elitist geese, and geese are — I know this from living for several years near Lake Merritt in Oakland, which was lousy with them — nasty, aggressive birds willing to do battle on the innocent and the helpless with little or no provocation. Take Lynn and her totally innocent, never-got-a-fingerbang-from-him-no-sir friend Greg, feeding these ungrateful parasites in today’s flashback frame. Lynn’s dad was mad at Greg for taking Lynn away from her skating practice; Greg’s parents, on the other hand, were mad at Lynn for fleeing the scene in terror while the savage swans pecked their poor son to death.
The swan in Ziggy, meanwhile, only does battle with the dignity of birds everywhere. Its obscenely lolling tongue is particularly unsettling. Ziggy is right to manifest his patented Undereye Bags Of Horror in response.
Gil Thorp, 12/11/08
I really do keep waiting for this to turn out to be a continuation of the wacky tale of Jeff “Sacko” “6-9″ “That kid who lied about his heart condition” Ponczak and Matt the Hat and Marty Moon and … you know, football season, this ostensibly being a comic about sports and all, but I’m coming around to the idea that maybe we’re firmly planted in a brave new plot of NUT BOY and armed robbery and now, two snobby prep school refugees washing up on Milford’s poverty-blighted shores! Our snooty transfer twins will be just like 90210′s Brandon and Brenda, except oppositely socially mobile, and one of them is named “Bryce” instead of “Brandon”, and they’ll probably be roped into participating in some kind of athletic activity. Perhaps Bryce will complain loudly about Milford’s lack of a polo team or yachting squad.
Beetle Bailey, 12/11/08
Yeah, lady, I’m sure this seems like a good idea now, but just wait until the beatings start.
Spider-Man, 12/10/08
For all the time I spend slamming on poor inept Spider-Man, there are occasional gems that keep me reading the thing day after day; indeed, today’s strip made me laugh louder than, say, any installment of Blondie, ever. Of all newspaper Spider-Man’s neglected and useless super-powers, his spider sense is the worst. It singularly failed to prevent him from, say, being clobbered by a lead-pipe-wielding butler or getting hit in the head with a brick. But finding a totally obvious piece of paper that’s just sitting out on a desk in plain sight, with the information Spidey needs written out in 72-point font? Oh, it’s going to tingle like crazy! I’m not sure how much use an actual spider would have for this kind of power, though, seeing as most of them are illiterate. I think a better name for it would be “convenience sense,” and he could use it around the house to find missing keys, misplaced cell phones, and, of course, the TV remote.
One Big Happy, 12/10/08
Now, obviously we all enjoy a good Oedipus joke now and then, and they obviously come to mind all the time, what with Sophocles’ great play-cycle being frequently restaged for television, with Oedipus played by some kind of cut-rate Jonas Brother wearing fingerless gloves for some reason. Still, I think I would have liked it better if this strip had starred, say, Joe and his dad, or Ruthie and her grandpa, or really just about any other possible character combination you could name, not least because of this.
Mark Trail, 12/10/08
Surely I can’t be the only one who read the narration box in the final panel of this strip and then spent a few minutes wondering what Mark smells like. My guess: pine needles, and fresh-pressed khaki, and whatever the opposite of pheromones is.
