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Mark Trail, 10/30/07

See, we’re only two days into the Amazing Adventures of Johnny Malotte, L’Homme d’Extérieur, and it’s already a gazillion times more amusing than dumb old Homer and the Shirleys can ever dream of being. I sincerely hope that in every single panel in which Johnny appears, he has several of his innumerable offspring draped over him, so as to indicate what a crowded, Soylent Green-type hellscape the Malotte compound is. The first panel of today’s installment shows us the dangers of backwoods inbreeding, as Johnny’s freakishly thick torso towers over his presumably high-school-aged son; either Johnny is a Paul Bunyan-like forest giant, or his son is a borderline little person (though perfectly proportioned, it should be noted).

Meanwhile, the idea that Tiny Malotte is going to have satisfy every whim of some pair of rich city businessmen in order to get the associate’s degree he needs to escape this overcrowded cabin forever is too, too delicious. Look for him to run afoul of Mark as he desperately tries to find hookers and blow in Lost Forest.

Apartment 3-G, 10/30/07

Oh, man, I had completely forgotten that Margo was running an event planning business! And, from the look of things, so did Margo. I wonder if Eric, like the wealthy and powerful everywhere, has expected Margo to drop everything else in her life now that he’s made her part of his business empire. I know we keep waiting in vain for an apocalyptic Eric-Margo conflict, but perhaps if he discovers that his new gallery manager is moonlighting organizing awards banquets for bleeding hearts, we might get one step closer.

B.C., 10/30/07

This is actually a fairly amusing cartoon for those with memories of and investment in the B.C. cast of characters, which, unfortunately for B.C., is pretty much nobody at this point. What I want to know is JESUS GOD WHOSE LEG IS THAT DANGLING LIMPLY FROM THE BACK OF THE SHELL?

Funky Winkerbean, 10/30/07

“Well, here we are … the brand new exposition in the exposition!”

“Thanks for bringing us here, Cindy … I really exposition to Funky to exposition.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind his exposition stopping by for the big exposition either!”

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B.C., 9/26/07

…or like fish, right? Because the whole “tastes like chicken” joke is about exotic animals that people don’t usually eat, you see, and at root it’s based on the fact that chicken is fairly bland, as is most meat from small-ish animals, and it’s just that chicken is the kind of small-ish animal we eat the most. And fish, by contrast, actually have a really distinctive flavor … and he’s eating a fish … and the joke would have worked just as well if the punchline had been “…it sure tastes great” or something along those lines … and … and … AAAAARRRGGGH!

Ahem. To say something nice, I sort of like Clumsy’s crudely drawn but effectively harrowing look of profound horror in the final panel. I also think it’s amusing that Curls has taken his first bite of delectable Dorsellectus Illusivii out of the fish’s head. (Addendum: OH GOD I KNOW THE NAMES OF B.C. CHARACTERS WITHOUT LOOKING THEM UP PLEASE KILL ME NOW)

Hi and Lois, 9/26/07

“Now, Trixie, don’t forget, Daddy and I have decided that you will stay a perfect porcelain doll, untouched by the dangerous rays of the sun throughout your sheltered life. Don’t make me put you in the barrel again!”

Pluggers, 9/26/07

Pluggers … let their children play in feces? Wow, there’s really not much I can add to this one. I would like to point out, though, that cats like to shit in sandboxes generally. Brightly colored sandboxes in the postage-stamp-sized backyards of yuppie-hipster rowhouses in Park Slope; huge, multi-level sand-based environments in the acres behind McMansions in Northern Virginia; or sand-filled tires in the trash-strewn lots of Pluggerville, USA: cats will do their business in any of them. Thus, I can only assume that the poop angle was added here to give someone a perverse thrill. You are sick, sir or madam, sick!

Shoe, 9/26/07

OK, if you’ve worked for a newspaper for years and frequently cover political stories and still don’t know the length of your town’s mayoral term, you no longer get to call yourself “Perfesser.” I don’t care if it’s whimsically misspelled. This sort of thing quite frankly makes me rethink my opinions on media consolidation. If Gannett bought the Treetops Tribune (or whatever the hell it’s called; I’M NOT LOOKING IT UP YOU CAN’T MAKE ME) and outsourced all of the local reporting to a journalism compound in Bangalore, at least those guys would know how to look up the answer on Wikipedia.

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Funky Winkerbean, 9/21/07

Lisa’s friends have decided to poison her as an act of mercy, and if they kill Les in the process, it won’t really bother them that much.

Pluggers, 9/21/07

Pluggers don’t have health insurance, so they take their kids to the vet.

For Better Or For Worse, 9/21/07

Michael’s daughter has some sort of remotely operated mind-control chip installed in her brain.

B.C., 9/21/07

If you’re an ant, and half the people you’re at a party with suddenly get eaten alive, it’s not that big a deal, I guess.