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Mark Trail, 12/16/18

Mark Trail Nature Sundays ought by right to be about animals, or maybe plants, or in a pinch, fungi. I am not thrilled with a whole installment that’s about an essentially geological phenomenon, and even less thrilled by the fact that they won’t even show it to us. Are we supposed to be satisfied with Mark locking eyes with us and saying “jacuzzi of despair” with a very serious facial expression while Cherry ever-so-subtly arches her back to lift her bikini’d bosom towards the orange, glowing sky? Because I’m not satisfied, OK? The god-damned boat in the first panel never even explodes! This is a sub-optimal Sunday!

Panels from Beetle Bailey, 12/16/18

I’m … pretty sure that Beetle is clinically depressed, guys.

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Sam and Silo, 12/7/18

I still don’t really have a handle on what Sam and Silo’s whole “deal” is. Is it a comic about a robe-wearing cowboy (?) who hangs out with nuns, or is it a comic about a generic white-collar guy who eats soup in diners? Why does the generic white-collar guy not eat soup by lifting his spoon to his mouth, like a normal person, but instead lowers his entire body down to meet it? Is “lowering his body” even what he’s doing here? Is his head retracting into his torso, like a turtle? Hopefully I’ll be able to bring you answers to these questions as this situation develops.

Crock, 12/7/18

You probably think that legacy strips like Crock are comfortable just running in their grooves, never really breaking new ground or exploring their cast of characters. But the joke’s on you, because today, more than six years after the strip promised to stop publishing, we learn that beloved character [checks Wikipedia] “Maggot” isn’t just the camp’s resident latrine digger: he’s also a cannibal, and one who’s tired of eating ordinary men and women and now hungers for celebrity flesh.

Mark Trail, 12/7/18

So it turns out Raul did not fall to his death, but instead crashed through this nice couple’s skylight and, apparently, into their dinner? Normally I can’t get enough of extreme closeups on the faces of these bug-eyed caricatures, but I’m assuming Raul is sprawled out on the dining room table, covered in delicious, piping hot cochinita pibil, sopa de lima, and other delicacies of the Yucatan, and I want to see the carnage, darn it.

Six Chix, 12/7/18

Fun fact: women absolutely do not wear strapless tube top rompers to yoga, as doing any kind of inversions would lead to embarrassing wardrobe malfunction situations. Also, snowpeople would be much more diligent about ascertaining the temperature of rooms before they enter, as prolonged exposure to heat causes them to die in agony.

Blondie, 12/7/18

“Boy, people seem to like Twitter! I guess they got games on there like they do on Facebook, huh?” –someone who has spent a lot of time playing games on Facebook and has literally never used Twitter once

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Funky Winkerbean, 12/4/18

Ha ha, this story has gotten more off-putting more quickly than even I could’ve predicted. It’s only day two and we’re learning that Funky’s dad definitely fucks. The expressions in the final panel are a real journey: Funky’s is the face of a man thinking “Holy shit, my dad fucks?” and the receptionist’s is the smirk of a woman thinking “Heh heh, this guy’s unpleasant old dad fucks … and I’m telling everybody.”

Kevin and Kell, 12/4/18

Oh, hey, by the way: the furries of Kevin and Kell? They don’t just kill and eat one another; they also fuck. They also talk to … a … tree, via some kind of … intercom system? But don’t let that distract you from the important thing, which is that they fuck.

Mary Worth, 12/4/18

You might think that this whole cat allergy business is just one more indignity Mary Worth the person and Mary Worth the comic strip has dumped on our poor Dr. Jeff. But remember, Mary once cruised a guy at his mother’s funeral and then contrived a fight with Jeff so she could dump him, only to deign to return when she realized that only Jeff was willing to subsidize her seafood habit. She enjoyed an extended Manhattan flirtation with handsome Broadwaysman Ken Kensington and only broke it off when she realized New York City’s traffic was dangerous to a small-town California girl like herself, accustomed to just stepping off the curb into the street willy-nilly. And so sure, maybe Mary’s foster cat sent Jeff fleeing from her apartment for his life, but in fact Libby has achieved the seemingly impossible: gotten Mary to refer to Jeff as her “boyfriend”! It’s too bad Jeff is miles away, doped up on Benadryl, and can’t hear it.

Judge Parker, 12/4/18

Meanwhile, in Judge Parker, Neddy has fled in failure and disgrace to the family compound, but is tired of hearing from everyone in her family about how she really needs to stop fleeing in failure and disgrace to the family compound, and so needs to go to the maid for emotional reassurance. Why should she even need Marie’s number? Isn’t the whole point of a maid that they’re always close enough that you can summon them by ringing a bell or clapping loudly and order them to bring you soup or tell you that you’re pretty and smart?

Mark Trail, 12/4/18

Looks like Cool Motorcycle Guy (or, to use his “government name,” Raul) is about to fall to his death. It seems somebody’s getting his just desserts for violating the number one rule of jungle karma: never insult a toucan.

Dennis the Menace, 12/4/18

Mr. Wilson had hated Dennis’s constant intrusions into his life for years, of course. But he finds his presence strangely comforting these days, now that Martha finally left him.