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Mark Trail, 8/5/10

So yesterday’s Mark Trail — which I couldn’t even bring myself to comment on — featured an unleashed Sassy again lunging in the direction of vehicular death, proving that the dog finds suicide preferable to life with his hideous boy-master. However, they’ve been brought up short by the presence of a chain-link fence in the middle of the woods. I’m no outdoorsman, but that’s really not the sort of fence I imagine for a cattle farms. I think that Rusty and Sassy have been lured into a vast enclosure — a hidden gate slid silently shut behind them after they passed through it — where hidden cameras lurk everywhere. In a nearby mansion, a very exclusive group of gentlemen place bets on battles between little boys and freakish tree-dwelling woodchuck-like things. Will Sassy turn on Rusty once the woodchuck-thing knocks him to the ground?

Jumble, 8/5/10

Whoah, so yesterday, after I joked about back-alley dice games in the Jumble, the feature’s cartoonist promised that it was the “first jewel in the Jumble Triple Crown.” The action today has moved to a strip club, where we see a bored, exhausted dancer twirling sullenly for a sparse mid-afternoon crowd. One can only imagine what tomorrow might bring! Perhaps a junkie shown carefully injecting between his toes, with the clue “Why was Bob so careful not leave track marks?” (Answer: He was too “[V][E][I][N]”)

Mary Worth, 8/5/10

Mike, I’m sure you’re a meticulous planner and all, but if you’re planning on sucker-punching your dad, you shouldn’t get your fist all clenched up and ready to go before he even arrives. Likely the reason he always stands you up is he can see you standing there like that, ready for action, from across the park.

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Mary Worth, 8/4/10

There are few things in this life that I enjoy more than Mary Worth’s version of squalor. Some great previous examples include Mary’s journey past the Charterstone gates into the hellscape of “downtown,” Vera’s sad post-disinheritance apartment, and Wilbur’s not-son’s hilariously run-down hovel. But Lonnie and Fred’s crash pad is pretty great too, with its combination of decay (crumbling plaster, torn curtains) and disregard (picture askew; pink curtains, black wall, and baby blue chair placed in close proximity). And of course Fred carries this slovenliness over to his own person, with his wispy combover and unbuttoned, untucked shirt. (At least his undershirt is tucked it; he’s not a monster.)

The question is: what exactly is the relationship between Lonnie and Fred? I would actually be thrilled if they were a couple, because it would strike a blow against the stereotype that all gay men are classy and well dressed and have an innate interior design sense. Some of them just drink off-brand beer right from a can, a can that they set down on their hideous end table without using any kind of coaster.

Archie, 8/4/10

What … what exactly is happening in panel three? Has Archie opened the door only to be killed by Leroy’s elaborate wind chime-based booby trap? Or is “He really enjoyed making wind chimes” the phrase that triggers his post-hypnotic suggestion? What we see is Archie’s own self-perception, as his consciousness falls down a rabbit hole of wind chime hallucinations; meanwhile, his body stands silently in the Lodges’ foyer, awaiting instructions to kill.

Jumble, 8/4/10

Wow, I’m pretty sure this is the only puzzle game in the newspaper that’s ever depicted a guy who may well be on the verge of being beaten to death in a dank alley somewhere. You don’t get this with Sudoku, kids!

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Family Circus, 7/30/10

Rarely have I been more disgusted with a smile plastered all over Jeffy’s grotesque and unnaturally horizontal face. One can’t fault a child for hurling a rock at the ocean, but surely the vandalistic joy and apparent sense of achievement he feels as a result of this act are worthy of censure? I censure him. FEEL MY WRATH, JEFFY!

Mary Worth, 7/30/10

OK, so maybe Mary isn’t a “licensed therapist” per se, but you have to admit she’s making great progress with Dr. Mike. Just yesterday he was punching himself in the head; now he’s more healthily directing that anger outwards, engaging in fisticuffs with his invisible absent father.

Marmaduke, 7/30/10

“And sometimes he barks out demonic incantations so as to raise an nightmare army of walking corpses that will do his awful bidding!”