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Rex Morgan, M.D., 3/3/09

So, obviously, the current Rex Morgan, M.D., storyline became boring to me once it stopped being about hot barely closeted nautical action and instead turned into something about, I dunno, medicine-y stuff. Still, I am charmed by this old Mrs. Dunsmore, who is apparently British, and her imperial nostalgia. “Yes, if there’s one group that knows how to run a quarantine, it’s the Brits! Comes from being an island people, you see. We’ll be kept just off shore by polite and heavily armed guards, and occasionally be airlifted crates of digestive biscuits and blood pudding to eat; if the virus rages out of control, of course, they’ll just set the boat on fire with all of us still on it, nodding their heads sagely as we scream for mercy and saying ‘Bit of a sticky wicket, eh wot? Still, had to be done, I suppose. Say, d’you think we have time to catch the Test Match?'”

Pluggers, 3/3/09

Though pluggers are incapable of adequately planning ahead for retirement, their suicide preparations are remarkably meticulous.

Family Circus, 3/3/09

BITE, PJ! DO IT! BITE BITE BITE!

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Slylock Fox, 3/1/09 (portion) and 3/2/09

First off, an apology: while scanning Sunday’s strips for entertainment value, I somehow managed to completely miss an appearance by my hero, Reeky Rat, in which he is actually innocent of the crime of which he is accused! He’s still guilty of wearing a hideous yellow sweater that in no way lives up to his awesome fashion potential, and of befouling the snow-covered dirt patch in front of his trailer, but if the plot on which a man has parked his trailer (the rent on which is less than sixty days overdue) is not his castle, where he can dress and litter as he pleases, then what rights remain to us in this country? Reeky’s small-type, upside-down exoneration may be a first for the Slylock Fox rogues gallery, and presumably this is all the excuse Slylock needs to stop going to down to the trailer park altogether and just let its denizens dish out brutal justice to one another with their crude homemade weaponry.

That should clear up lots of time in his schedule for episodes like today’s, in which our detective heads over to the gym to creepily stare at the patrons and employees in their little short shorts. What, do you work for the FDA now, Fox? I’m sure Buford can produce some kind of corporate-sponsored study proving that regular bowel movements are an important part of any muscle-building regimen.

Archie, 3/2/09

The main joke in today’s Archie indicates nothing more than that the AJGLU 3000’s anti-lawsuit module has been given far too much priority over its other humor functions (THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT LUCKY CHARMS® BRAND CEREAL FROM GENERAL MILLS I ALONE DARE SAY THIS), but I am amused by Archie’s father’s mug, which reads “#2 DAD.” It’s possible that our charming joke-generating machine, in its cold mechanical logic, doesn’t see why 2 would be much inferior to 1 on a scale of 0 to infinity and means this as a compliment, but I prefer to believe that it has finally learned the importance of poop jokes.

A more sobering revelation comes on the milk carton in the second panel, which tells us that Jughead has been kidnapped, possibly after having been lured into a creepy van by a trail of hamburgers.

Family Circus, 3/2/09

“I mean it, our children are lazy little turds, lying there on the floor sullenly mashing mass-manufactured pieces of plastic crap together for hours on end. Just the very sight of them sickens me. I sincerely hope you bought the toys that are known choking hazards, like I asked you to.”

Dick Tracy, 3/2/09

“The oil companies will make him a rich man … for keeping his mouth shut, after they bury that formula in a very, very deep hole.”

Marmaduke, 3/2/09

“I don’t mind too much, though, because this way I can’t really feel the pooling urine.”

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Beetle Bailey, 3/1/09

Sometimes people complain about the mishmosh of anachronisms and inaccuracies that make up the military uniforms in Beetle Bailey, to which I respond: check out what happens when the artists try to draw any other form of clothing. While most of these outfits are rendered with equal parts lazy and terrible (and I long to hear faithful reader Fashion Police’s take on them), I feel must I draw particular attention to Rocky, slouching there smack dab in the middle of this grid of awfulness. While I suppose I am not an authority on what constitutes “urban hip,” I feel that I can with some certainty give examples of what “urban hip” is not, and here is one: an oversized, untucked, bright red waistcoat, worn over what appears to be a white t-shirt with a single, incomprehensible button at the collar.

Zero’s bit of hanky code, meanwhile, is neither to be asked about nor told of.

Family Circus, 3/1/09

More proof that the Keane Kids are unnatural demon-children. “AAGGGGH! The yellow face, it BURNS!”

Mark Trail, 3/1/09

Another example of how the top row of throwaway panels can subtly alter a strip’s dynamics. Without them, today’s Mark Trail is just a charming story of poisonous plants and early biological warfare. But with the mention of the poisonous plants growing in your yard, this becomes a manual for a guerilla army. “So remember, kids, when the invaders come to your town, you’ll have a weapon ready to strike back at them even after they confiscate everybody’s firearms. Wolverines!”

Mary Worth, 3/1/09

Ted has finally and officially been outed as a cad by his cheapskate thought balloon in today’s final panel. I’m sure we’ll have much more delicious character assassination to enjoy over the coming weeks, but today I want to dwell briefly on just how damn pleased with himself Jeff looks as he bellows out his offer to pick up the check. Presumably everyone in his family just views him as a giant talking wallet, and he’s internalized that and is now just desperate to please in the only way he knows how.

Panel from the Phantom, 3/1/09

While Spider-Man’s narration box is acknowledged as the sassiest of superhero narration boxes, the Phantom’s is no slouch. I was particularly impressed by this atmospheric and semi-comprehensible offering today. It sounds like the latest underground hip-hop album to hit the street (though I leave to the reader to determine whether “Day of Reckoning” should be the artist name and Through the Eyes of a Thug the album title, or vice versa).