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Mark Trail, 10/18/09

Here’s another entry for your “Mark Trail: social misfit or sociopath?” file. It’s true that the ways of nature are not that of man, etc., but Mark seems a little too pleased to explain to us the gruesome nature of the Shrike’s feeding methods, and provides an extra-large panel to show its grisly trophy room of victims. We’re supposed to believe that this tiny feathered monster is too weak to hold onto a bug and chew at the same time, but still has the strength to impale that possibly still breathing mouse onto some nearby branch? Killing is apparently only the beginning of its monstrous joys.

Note that in the final panel, Mark claims to know the name that the northern shrike’s terrified prey use for their tormentor. How does he know what goes on in these woodland creatures’ minds? Do his advanced woodsman techniques extend to inter-species telepathy? Does he hear their cries for mercy, and smile?

Hi and Lois, 10/18/09

The most puzzling and amusing aspect of this cartoon is Ditto’s look of numb horror in the final panel. Everyone else has endured Dot’s shrill diatribe and discovered that removing their butts from the couch and stepping out onto the sidewalk actually has some positive aspects. But Ditto apparently has wholly merged with exuburbia and finds this “walking” notion abhorrent. “Ugh, my legs … carrying my torso from place to place … no in-car DVD player providing entertainment during my journey? Why, God, why?”

Crock, 10/18/09

As always, it’s best to ignore the ostensible humor content of Crock, but this cartoon does cause one to wonder why (and how) Maggot has come to be standing in a circular hole several feet deep and an inch or so wider in diameter than his waist. Is Maggot actually some sort of human-prairie dog hybrid? It would explain his odd body shape, and his hairiness.

Panel from Apartment 3-G, 10/18/09

Apartment 3-G sundays are generally just boring recaps of the previous week’s action, but you do sometimes get gems like this. Ha ha, Bobbie is enraged because she can’t get her pills! @!!*# it, she wants some mother@!!*#ing pills, you @!!*#faces!

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Beetle Bailey, 10/17/09

In the early days of this blog, I poured scorn on Sally Forth for accepting product placement money from progressive rock legends Rush. In the subsequent years, however, as the newspaper business has imploded and the comics industry upon which I have come to rely has been brought ever closer to extinction, I’ve rethought my position on nontraditional revenue-generating strategies. For instance, Beetle Bailey is both a hilarious comic that will provide a much-needed laugh over your morning coffee and a brand that is highly trusted by the coveted 55-to-80 demographic. So, when Sarge admits that his recurrent incontinence causes him to shun social situations or long trips into unfamiliar territories, that would have been a great time to open up a conversation with readers about Detrol, or Lyrinel XL, or, you know, whoever’s willing to pay more. Not only would this have been both lucrative for the holders of the intellectual property rights pertaining to Beetle Bailey and educational for consumers, it also would have replaced a baffling and distasteful punchline about Otto carrying his urine-soaked fire hydrant around with him.

Mark Trail, 10/17/09

Poachy McSideburns is proving himself the master of the at once obvious and profound question about Mark Trail. “How did he stay alive?” touched on matters both biological and philosophical; today’s “Is he a wild-life man?” gets right to the paradox at the heart of this strip. Mark is clean-cut, straight-arrow, not a hair out of place; yet he is more in tune with the natural world than he is with the experiences of those of us living in so-called “civilization.” Is he “man,” or is he “wild-life”? How does he reconcile these two different parts of his essence? We should all offer thanks to our yellow-shirted philosopher of the swamp, before he’s punched into submission.

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Pluggers, 10/14/09

Oh my goodness, it’s lucky for all of us that pluggers are honest, simple folk who don’t want to make a fuss and certainly don’t go out and “protest injustice” like some kind of God-damned hippie, because otherwise this news would cause every small-to-midsized town in Real America to go up in flames, consumed by riots that make the 1999 Seattle WTO protests look like a garden party. In fact, our spokesdog looks distinctly nervous, as if he’s going to read this communique as quickly as possible and then flee back inside Pluggers HQ so that he won’t be pelted by vegetables. Use the devil’s e-mail? What do you take us for, communists?

Ha ha, I kid! It’s well known that an elite segment of the plugger population has mastered 20th-century technology; now it appears we’ll be getting entries exclusively from these folks until this whole Post Office to-do is worked out. It will be an interesting anthropological study to see if we can detect any difference in the content of the submissions. For instance, will there be fewer cartoons about the difficulties of picking up AM radio broadcasts and more about how none of these newfangled Websites seem to work with Netscape Navigator 4?

(By the way, if the post office where your P.O. Box is closes down, can’t they just forward your mail to your new P.O. Box? Am … am I missing something?)

Mark Trail, 10/14/09

Hey, Sideburned Poacher Dude, I know it’s literally impossible for any character in Mark Trail to refrain from verbalizing his every thought, and I know it’s pretty shocking to see someone who you did an extremely half-assed job of killing still alive, but there’s no need to shout, OK? Mark and Bob are close enough to see your word balloons emerging from the bushes! It’s like you want to get punched in the face!

“HOW DID HE STAY ALIVE?” is now my new go-to exclamation of surprise at the unexpected appearance of my enemies, by the way. “God, look at him … breathing … digesting … refusing to die … how does he do it?”

Curtis, 10/14/09

You know, I give Curtis a lot of crap for being almost unbearably corny — as it has for the last two weeks, say, as Curtis’s dad has complained about someone stealing his delicious tuna-fish sandwich every day from the work fridge, and Curtis has plotted vengeance against those who would harm the Wilkins clan, stealthily replacing today’s sandwich with one made out of cat food. But by God, this strip has some craft. I have to admire the three panels of Curtis’s runaway panic manifesting itself physically — pupils dilating, sweatballs flying, and his finally his lunch attempting to escape his gullet with a mighty BLORK! as he desperately clutches his throat to prevent vomit from staining his beloved red sweatshirt. It made me laugh, even if nothing about the actual plot did.

Blondie, 10/14/09

Ha ha! It’s funny because Alexander’s “girlfriend” is a prostitute!