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Archive: Mark Trail

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Angry white female

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Apartment 3-G, 11/30/05

Yeah, why is she so down? Maybe it’s because she’s headed out to work, churning out awful press releases, pimping no-talent actors and playwrights, glossing over the crimes of evil multinational corporations — you know, the sort of things that keep New York, the greatest city in the world, humming, and all for a salary that isn’t going to keep a girl in Kate Spade and Jimmy Choo like she deserves. Meanwhile, the two of you, who have selfishly chosen high-paying, zero-stress jobs in the nursing and elementary-school-art fields, get to enjoy a leisurely breakfast over the paper, relaxing in your deeply dowdy but no doubt warm and comfortable robes.

Honestly, it’s like being white, unscrupulous, and upwardly mobile doesn’t mean anything anymore.

I thought that the chatter in the comments this morning had prepared me for the harrowing sight of Mark Trail’s muscular but nippleless torso. I was wrong. Hoo boy was I wrong. No one had mentioned that there was something deeply freaky about his face as well. Is that a shadow cast by his sunken, heroin-addict-style cheekbones, or is he just wearing black rouge? Whatever the case, he joins Dagwood Bumstead in the no-nips hall of fame:

Also, is anyone else as unsettled by the current teenage-jewel-theives-in-fetish-masks plot in the Phantom as I am?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

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Pet-tastic, Bo-dacious

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Jeez, our power was restored this afternoon, but there was deep server wonkiness this evening that almost forced me to put off a new post yet another day. Thank goodness it got resolved just in time for me to put up a loopy, two-o’clock-in-the-morning, caffeine-fueled post. I feel like I’m seeing transparent divorce birds bumping see-through uglies in midair or something.

Mark Trail, 11/28/05

I was convinced that we were going to be forced to endure the Most Boring Mark Trail Plotline Ever™, which seemed destined to go something like this: “Hey, it’s an incredibly rare bird!” “Let’s call in an expert to verify it!” “No, that’s not the bird you’re looking for.” “Oh, well, thanks anyway!” But just in time to stave off this disastrously dull denouement arrives this clan of inbred, overall-clad bumpkins, determined to shake things up by striking back at the Northeastern liberal elite the only way they know how: by kidnapping an innocent dog. Perhaps the long, snooze-inducing buildup is Elrod’s little way of telling us that, despite Mark Trail’s ostensible nature-focused narrative purpose, actual nature is actually boring, and we should be thankful when the strip returns to its true calling, which is to say: fisticuffs in which our attractive, square-jawed hero defeats ugly people. You better watch yourself, there, no-neck: Mark Trail doesn’t take kindly to dognappers. You’re much more likely to get a knuckle sandwich than the “over a thousand bucks” you’re dreaming about.

By the way, the phrase “Pa, please don’t steal any more pets!” is going on a craptacular item that you can buy with good money soon. Mark my words.

Blondie, 11/29/05

You know what I like best about today’s Blondie? It’s the fact that the punchline depends on a homonym, so it’s only obvious in word balloon form. I’d like to imagine that Baldo McMustache here continues to stare blankly at the sleeping Dagwood, wondering desperately if there was a season of American Idol that he missed or something (“Isn’t he too old for the show anyway? My God, is that Bo Bice with his hair cut short?”). Meanwhile, Mr. Dithers looks back and forth between the idiot and the narcoleptic and wonders again about just how his HR minions make their decisions.

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I can’t see anything going wrong with this idea

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Mark Trail, 11/1/05

You may have noticed that Mark Trail dropped off my radar in late August. That’s because, despite a set-up that promised grim power struggles, attempted murder, and mouth-foaming insanity, nothing has happened of any interest for weeks and week and oh god oh god no no no no. Boyd was going to have rabies … except then he didn’t … but then he did … but then he got back to a hospital in time. Scott and Lynn were going to try to murder him … but then they didn’t, except for this one really half-assed attempt on Lynn’s part. After many sitcom-level almost-revelations, at least we actually found out that Scott was destined to guide BoydCo into the glorious future of … whatever … it is … that … it does. And today we learn that Lynn’s mighty slap on Scott’s face a few days ago precipitated the end of their scheming, murderous union. Hopefully a future strip will show Scott stepping over Lynn in the gutter as he strides with his new, non-sociopathic wife into a fancy country club.

There’s only one thing standing in the way of that glorious vision: Scott’s swung so far from bad to good that he’s going to spill the beans on his previous designs. This, it seems to me, is a Bad Idea. There’s two ways that this could go: either the two gentlemen could have a hearty, manly laugh about that whole attempted-murder thing, which will just reinforce Mark Trail’s camp value at the expense of any other value of any kind; or the confession could trigger Boyd’s latent rabies, and he’s just gonna start biting the hell out of stuff. Either way, it’s all good with me.

Speaking of quick and laughable resolutions:

Spider-Man, 11/1/05

Is every potentially hazardous encounter between Spidey and this dastardly doctor going to be resolved by dumb luck? Has Peter Parker been endowed with the relative deus ex machina-inducing ability of a spider? Is Spider-Man going to come perilously close to exposing himself in every strip from now on? Keep tuning in to find out!