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Oddly coincident with my stewardship here at The Comics Curmudgeon, the Sunday comics are rolling out their B-Teams. Let’s take a look.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/20/09

OK, Rex Morgan, M.D. usually disappoints by dishing out endless observational chit-chat between Rex and June followed by a lot of talking on phones, and then, once everyone has lost interest, annihilating some minor character in a hail of gunfire or whatnot. Josh cites this as one factor in The Rex Morgan Problem, and I will not say him nay. But here’s a new and disturbing development — after weeks of observational chit-chat between secondary character Becka and assorted walk-ons, one of them (wildlife writer Tim Howard, and there’s fifteen minutes of my life I won’t get back) flies into an incandescent rage over a minor procedural issue in the organization of search parties. By the time we reach the final panel, we envy poor, wet, demented Pearl and Henry (oh God why me), feeling that the story that’s tormented us since June is fresh and new.

Also: “A@#SS“!

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 9/20/09

Passing by the fact that Snuffy is himself a replacement for long-departed Barney Google, what’s with poor Micah? This is the first we hear of him — yet, as the only gainfully-employed resident of Hootin’ Holler, he must’ve been the centerpiece of the Gazette‘s business section for years. I mean, it’s not like violence and murder are going to crowd him out of the paper — the Gazette puts the Police Blotter, casualty list, and obits in agate type behind the classifieds.

Apartment 3-G, 9/20/09

Oh, and here’s Aristotle Papagoras, newly emblondened and ready for his closeup. This charlatan pusher absent-mindedly bilks disease-addled Dr. “Skully” Bryant out of his lucrative Upper East Side psychiatric practice, while thought-babbling obsessively about his junkie skank “patient.” This better end in murder, and I don’t much care who.

Crock, 9/20/09

Yes, for quite a few years now, as a matter of fact!

— Uncle Lumpy

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 9/13/09

I present to you this Snuffy Smith not because it’s noteworthy (it isn’t) or funny (oh, definitely not) but because it gives me an opportunity to point you in the direction of the puzzlingly detailed Wikipedia article for “Old Time,” which concept our flatland tourister (tourister?) neatly exemplifies. “The archetypical Old Timey costume includes … vertically-striped fabric, straw hats … a vest, and sleeve garters of the type worn in the later half of the 19th century,” says the crowdsourced wisdom of the world’s largest online encyclopedia, and two out of four clearly ain’t bad. The question of why the flatland tourister is dressed all old-timey, when the strip has always at least half-heartedly attempted to pass itself off as taking place in some extremely rustic locale in the present, is perhaps a mystery too profound for Wikipedia to answer.

(And thanks to behind-the-scenes Rifftrax genius Conor Lastowka for pointing me in the direction of this particular bit of Wikiwhimsy.)

Marvin, 9/13/09

Considering the kinds of filth this strip routinely serves up as family entertainment, I’m actually kind of surprised that they’re apparently not allowed to use the word “snot.”

Panel from Mary Worth, 9/13/09

As Detective Hewlett drops his simple frontier bride back off at her rustic farmhouse, let’s take a moment to savor the deliciousness of “Operation H-Town.” I’m going to wager that, contrary to the Chief’s gruff commentary, it will be a party — the kind of party where a certain lovelorn police officer gets killed! Will it be Adrian’s fault, because Scott will be so busy figuring out how to diplomatically tell her that she needs to get a haircut that costs more than $8 for the wedding ceremony that he’ll walk right into an ambush set by crazed smack dealers? Probably!

Panel from Apartment 3-G, 9/13/09

“…and so that’s when I decided that I didn’t love them either! Yes, everyone in the world who had ever or would ever live was now officially my enemy. They’d pay. Oh, they’d pay.”

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Gil Thorp, 7/22/09

You know how sometimes you get wind of the fact that they’re making a sequel to a movie you loved, and you allow yourself to get all excited about it, even though you know, deep in your heart of hearts, that it will probably never live up to the magic of the original? And you go to it and pay good money, hoping that among the Terminator: Salvations and Ghostbuster IIs you’ll have stumbled upon that rare Godfather: Part 2? Well, that’s how I sort of feel about the bubbling storyline here, in which Coach Kaz, P.I., is being urged to reprise his role from the utterly awesome summer of 2007, in which he stopped rock-and-roll legend Gail Martin from being harassed by her Ben Franklin-esque drummer. What Kaz, doesn’t mention, as he and Kelly enjoy their mid-up-scale dinner at Ricoze (called “Rico’s”, back when it was only mid-scale), is that he didn’t crack the Martin case by luck — he cracked it by hiring an actual detective to do the work for him. Perhaps he never admitted this to Gil in all the grandiose tales he told about that fateful summer?

Anyway, if there’s anything that makes me hopeful about a return to ’07-level awesomeness, it’s panel one here, in which Coach Kaz is lounging casually around in his Wayfarers, enjoying summer to its fullest. But remember, back in those heady days, Gil was teaching a kid who had accidentally cut off his own legs to box, and that was only the B-story. It’s going to be a tough act to follow.

Dennis the Menace, 7/22/09

This would be a good time for Mr. Wilson to be portrayed with his archetypical single bead of sweat; instead, his brow is dry and his eyes are thoughtful, if shifty. It’s almost as if he’s broken through years of anxiety and emotional turmoil on the subject of his irritating neighbor, and has reached a place of clarity; now, he’s attempting to apply rationality to the problem, beginning by contemplating the best places to stash the body.

Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 7/22/09

While the punchline in today’s Snuffy Smith is easy enough to parse — “Ha ha, the residents of Hootin’ Holler are subsistence farmers living in a pre-industrial economy” — I’m not sure what to make of the visual in the second panel, in which we see that the Smifs’ shack is perched at the end of a rocky, isolated outcropping. Are we meant to understand that relying only on local food sources and cutting ourselves off from the larger industrial food chain is like wobbling precariously at the edge of a cliff of starvation? Or that if these simple hill folk can extract sustenance from their boulder-strewn soil, surely we can too?

Judge Parker, 7/22/09

“I’m also concerned that your life vest is inflating! That shouldn’t happen until you’re out of the plane and in the water!”