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Rex Morgan, M.D., 5/25/07

Well, well, well, it looks like “the nanny” had what it took to be a heartless, Machiavellian corporate schemer all along! Just seconds after humiliating her stepson in front of the motley cast of characters on Avery International’s board, with a single regal wave of her hand she puts the smack down on Peter the Perhaps Too Helpful Chauffeur, who was probably thinking that he’d soon find himself Peter the General Counsel or Peter the CFO for his pains. The only remaining obstacle left in the path of her total triumph would be the poor missing Milton Avery himself, and I think that perhaps that search and rescue effort might find itself called off even after the weather improves — we don’t want to be a burden on the British taxpayer, you see, not with the National Health being in such a poor state. If the plane itself is never found, of course, then nobody will be the wiser about certain … modifications to its engines that were implemented just before its final, fatal flight.

I wouldn’t have been implying any of this before today, but then I saw the third panel here, in which Heather gives us a look that will hollow out a person’s soul with an ice-cream scoop.

Blondie, 5/25/07

This, combined with this, makes me think that the the creators of Blondie no longer believe children to be the future, but rather to be the terrifying, menacing present. Look for Dagwood to lead the charge for all children under the age of 12 to placed in prison camps, and only be released when they’ve passed a series of tests of their moral rectitude. Dag’s suck-up buddy Elmo will be a camp guard, of course.

Mary Worth, 5/25/07

I haven’t really been talking about Mary Worth much because oh God oh God SO BORING. Mary urges Vera to open her heart and forgive her brother, Vera deigns to read letter from Von, letter rambles on at great length, blah blah blabbity blah. I think today’s installment is kind of hilarious, though, because it gets to the heart of Vera’s beef against her brother: she’s not mad because he broke the bonds of filial friendship, or because he let his anger get the best of him over a trivial matter, or because he exploited their father’s sexism for financial gain; no, she’s angry because his actions forced her to get a job, which is presumably one of the most loathsome acts of degradation that she could have possibly been compelled to endure. I dearly hope that she shows up at Creepy Lack Of Affect Advertising Agency and tells all of her former coworkers that she thinks they’re low-class plebes whose only role in this world is to buoy the stock market so that she and her brother can live in unimaginable luxury, only to return to stately Von and Vera Manor to discover that Von has exhausted their savings to buy expensive hooch with which to cool his fevered brow.

IMPORTANT MARK TRAIL-RELATED UPDATE: They won’t stop with birds, people!

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Crankshaft, 5/21/07

Since a Crankshaft is a Funky Winkerbean sister strip, talk of death ought to make any character within earshot worry that they’re next in line for a demise that is both informative (to the reader) and agonizing (to the character … and, OK, also to the reader). The hilarious switcharoo in the final panel shows that the ’Shaft has not in fact worn his omnipresent baseball cap to yet another funeral, but is merely continuing his reign of terror over the cowed ladies of the Garden Club. To be honest I’ve never really understood his svengali-like hold over these innocent horticulture enthusiasts; there has to be some sort of cult-like angle to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if his next Garden Club speech starts very similarly to the one we see here, but ends instead at a table set with lots of little Dixie cups full of Kool-Aid.

Blondie, 5/21/07

Dagwood Bumstead — overeater, oversleeper, underachiever, tool moocher, intellectual soul mate to middle-schooler Elmo — has never been particularly troubled by shame. Thus his sudden look of mingled guilt and confusion in the final panel of this strip must indicate that his dream — with its “cherries the size of bowling balls” — got very, very weird indeed. Good taste, and our own peace of mind, must preclude us from contemplating the matter further.

Hi and Lois, 5/21/07

I’d blame this on another wacky coloring sweatshop mix-up, but the rug looks like this in black and white, too. There are only two reasons to have an inky black wall-to-wall carpet: to remind you of the dark abyss of Death that will one day open up and swallow your soul (and the Flagstons don’t seem like the type) or to absorb any and all liquids you might care to spill onto it without show visible stains. There’s a reason that they leave Trixie sitting in front of that window for 20 hours a day.

Mark Trail, 5/21/07

Oh, Mark, Mark, Mark. You’re so eager to impress your chesty little friend that you’ve blown the cover off of your journalistic M.O. “Take a boring story from three years ago that nobody remembers, replace a few paragraphs with updated information, and … ka-CHING! Another fat paycheck, plus a free trip away from my Stepford Wife and freaky gap-toothed big-headed not-son!”

I’m pretty sure that panel two offers the first look at a dangling mouse corpse with its head half-masticated to ever appear in the comics pages.

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Gil Thorp, 5/19/07

Everyone who’s been whining about how relentlessly depressing and maudlin Funky Winkerbean’s cancer storyline may change their tune once they get a load of Gil Thorp’s frenzied, hard-to-follow take on the same material. My guess is that Coach Mrs. Coach Thorp is not, in fact, being told that she has cancer — the “bad news” will be that her insurance co-pay has gone up from $20 to $40 or something — but her student will spread the news to her squabbling teammates that Coach is on death’s door, and hilarious lesser-Shakespeare-comedy-of-misunderstanding-style hijinks will ensue, interspersed among Clambake’s down-home, vaguely racially offensive antics. It’ll be all cleared up right around the time the Lady Mudlark softball team gets bounced in the second round of the playdowns, and we’ll all learn a valuable lesson: namely, that nobody you actually know will ever get cancer.

Meanwhile, nobody will pay attention to the emotional and physical scars left by the vicious monkey attack on Blondie McWhatshername in panel three. The sinister simian has already clawed off most of her nose, and now it’s coming back for more.

Blondie, 5/19/07

It was distressing enough to learn that the Bumsteads’ neighborhood is full of vicious feral dogs who travel under the cover of night. Now we see that even the day isn’t safe, as this middle-school mafia travels from house to house demanding cash for work they don’t perform. The suburbs are even more terrifying than I could have imagined!

Apartment 3-G, 5/19/07

Some might argue that the revelation that Lu Ann’s veins are filled not with blood but some viscous black fluid indicates that she’s a robot, which would go a long way towards explaining her limited emotional range and general dimness. I prefer to believe that she’s been possessed by the X-Files’ black oil, and that “Albert Pinkham Ryder” is an avatar of the alien invasion force that’s been forcing her to paint endless numbers of boring fern watercolors to advance their sinister and inscrutable plans. In makes as much sense as anything else, which is to say: none at all.

9 Chickweed Lane, 5/19/07

A lot of people have been kvetching about this week’s 9 Chickweed Lane, in which Edda waxes maudlin about how nobody seems to understand the difference between being a dancer and being a professional dancer. As a non-traditional-job-having type myself (though my wife informed me this weekend that I did not actually qualify as “funemployed,” as much as I might like the word), I had a bit more sympathy than most, but even I was finding it pretty wearisome by the end … until suddenly it turned into Edda wearing short shorts and encountering a centaur, or unicorn, or something in the middle of a New York City park, and BAM! HOW YA LIKE ME NOW? It’s totally insane and doesn’t make any sense, but at least it’s more fun that Lu Ann’s leaky, addled skull.