Baby Morgan should arrive in a few months, strip-time! (i.e., 2031 or so)
Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/3/13
There was a certain amount of of complaining around here yesterday about a plot point that I failed to bring up in my year-end review: namely, that Rex and June have succeeded in creating an embryonic human, presumably with their naughty bits. The reason I ignored this is because there wasn’t anything super funny about the way it was presented, but I am sort of intrigued by how subtly giddy the prospect of renewed fatherhood is making Rex. I have only vague memories of who “Melissa” is — I’m pretty sure she’s the cranky old lady who we met like three plot twists ago, who owns the building that her grandson is letting strippers have sexy cancer fundraisers in. Maybe she’ll help out! Maybe human beings are basically good! We’ll never know unless we ask! Who wants more margaritas! Oh wait I guess I’m drinking for two now, aren’t I June! Ha ha ha!
The unexplained tight-shirted lady wandering through the foreground panel one is a good example of why stripper storylines are a harsh mistress. You’ve committed to a boobtastic plot now; sure, your narrative might demand that you spend a little time away from Chez Exotic Dancer, but your readers know what they want, and they want women with prominent breasts.
They say that literature can make you feel like you’ve visited exotic places you’ve never been to, and it’s certainly true that, thanks to its recurrent appearance as a locale in Shoe, I feel very familiar with a certain category of terribly sad fern bar circa 1979 or so. Just look at those three faces in panel one, emotionally deadened in various harrowing ways; the fact that the bird-man on the right is talking about a botched suicide attempt should certainly come as no surprise to anyone.
Mary Worth, 1/3/13
Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Dill, did you think you were in charge of your own entry in this cake-design contest? Well, you aren’t. You asked for Mary’s help, and when you ask for Mary’s help, you do it Mary’s way.