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Mark Trail, 1/21/14

WHOA, you guys, Mark is actually taking Rusty fishing, again. Do you think he might actually … like him, or something? Not if today’s strip is any indication! Remember, kids, Mark Trail knows all sorts of useful nature facts, which is why you should follow his lead and just feed pelicans by hand when they fly into your boat, even though they’re aggressive hypercarnivores with huge, powerful wings. Clearly the only reason Mark is doing this is because he’s hoping the pelican will mistake Rusty for a tasty fish and eat him, or because an hour on a boat with his misshapen ward has sapped him of his will to live and he figures an agonizing death in a pelican’s gullet is preferable to this.

But our pelican friend subbornly refuses to kill, so Mark just decides to violate all the rules of space and time by casually grabbing onto the pelican’s ankle desite the fact that the pelican is clearly like six or seven feet away from him. “Jessica Canupp, pelican point … hmm, interesting! I hear they’re doing top-secret experiments on faster-than-light travel there! Come on, Rusty, let’s follow this pelican through the wormhole that brought him here, since the laws of physics are clearly collapsing in this region and our very molecules will collapse into subatomic goo if whe stay much longer!”

Herb and Jamaal, 1/21/13

Honestly, if you told me that this strip was going to start focusing less on playful banter down at the Heart and Soul restaurant and more on Herb’s forbidden erotic fantasies, the kind he can’t tell anybody about, I’d have been cautiously open to it. But if this is the sort of thing that’s in store for us, then no thanks.

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Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, 1/18/14

Having been so long isolated from the mainstream of the U.S. and global economies, Hootin’ Holler has de facto become its own alternate currency zone.

Pluggers, 1/18/14

The crushing sameness of their dull, long, disappointing lives has numbed pluggers to the point that they rarely change facial expressions anymore. But they still need to occasionally groom the hair that continues to thrive even while their souls shrivel.

Mark Trail, 1/18/14

“Hey, wait, why are you shutting the door? Why are you locking the door? Why doesn’t my key work in the door anymore?”

Lockhorns, 1/18/14

Welp, looks like I’m pretty much the same age as Leroy Lockhorn, time to go weep endlessly somewhere!

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Mark Trail, 1/15/14

All appears to be well that has ended well in Mark Trail! Mark’s good name has been cleared, Jared has gone back to the big house without so much as a punching, and, most importantly, endless piles of flapjacks and maple syrup await heroes and victims alike. A victory without flapjacks tastes like defeat, whereas a steaming pile of starchy flapjack goodness makes victory all the sweeter, both metaphorically and literally (because of the high sugar content in the maple syrup). “Good lord,” says Cherry, days from now, “After endless rounds of binging and purging, I think it’s finally become physically impossible for me to eat any more flapjacks.” “No,” says Mark. “We have to keep eating them. We neet to eat these flapjacks … forever.”

Momma, 1/15/14

It’s good, Momma! It’s very good that your son places you in a conceptual category so different from the one in which he places the women he has sex with that he’s unable to formulate a meaningful comparison between you and them. Now please, for the love of all that’s right, go to sleep and stop thinking about this, I beg you.