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Mary Worth, 2/12/10

Ha ha, look at Dawn’s face in panel one: she can barely contain her joy as this wave of class hatred washes over her. Lies and deceit? A father who never lived up to his responsibilities? A son who was rejected by his blood relatives because he came from the wrong side of the tracks? Whatever! Wilbur is HERS HERS HERS HERS again! It’s like Christmas! Thanks, spiteful and terrible old drunk lady! Dawn will never forget you!

Herb and Jamaal, 2/12/10

Wow, Herb and Jamaal has taken on an interesting new idea: making everyday sayings hilariously concrete. Either that, or Eula has finally decided to get rid of her hated son-in-law once and for all, by using a fast-acting muscular paralytic.

B.C., 2/12/10

Johnny Hart’s grandson Mason Mastroianni is less than three years into his gig as B.C. artist and already he’s gone mad with power, imagining himself as a wrathful God who keeps His creations quaking in constant terror.

Pluggers, 2/12/10

This is possibly the most depressing Pluggers every produced. Damn you, pluggers, I don’t care that your bodies are so ill-maintained that the mere thought of vigorous activity, sexual or otherwise, has you reaching for some kind of muscle-soothing unguent; I for one plan to take my clothes of for recreational purposes when I get old.

Of course, it’s possible that pluggers don’t have anything against sex per se, but simply find the combination of sex and nudity morally distasteful. Thus, they only get it on when their worn, greasy pajama pants develop holes in suitable locations.

Mark Trail 2/12/10

“Yeah, my doctor, he said, ‘Senator, you can’t just go around slapping people who irritate you, because one of these days someone’s going to beat the crap out of you and then you’ll probably die, you miserable old prick.'”

SAD AND DEPRESSING JUDGE PARKER UPDATE: Several readers wrote to tell me that it looks like Judge Parker artist Eduardo Barreto is gravely ill from meningitis and is unable to continue his duties on the soap strip. While I and others have poked fun at his, er, voluptuous ladies, I think we all appreciate his work on the strip, which is really unlike anything else on the comics page (with the possible exception of the art from his friend Graham Nolan on RMMD). I sincerely hope that Barreto’s health improves, and I know that it will be very difficult for King Features to find a replacement who will live up to what he’s done over the past few years.

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Mary Worth, 2/10/10

Mary Worth is well aware that its seemingly sure-fire fake-bastard-son plot is floundering into boredom, with most of the action involving people seething inwardly while they stare at computers. Thus, it’s necessary to bring out a narrative trump card: a hilarious and drunken old lady! Ah, Helen Clark! Still haven’t recovered emotionally from your party’s defeat in New Zealand’s 2008 general election, have you? With your face twisted with drink and the rage that comes from being interrupted in your drinking, staring down to into your tasty ketchup-and-Stoli cocktail, talking into your princess phone, which has no obvious cradle for the handset — you, madam, are a breath of fresh air, if by “fresh” one means “reeking of vodka,” and I for one most certainly do mean that.

Note that even in the midst of this exciting storytelling gambit, Dawn is still diddling around on the Internet, which I’m beginning to think is a result of the Mary Worth team either taking payola from the consortium of Chinese factories that manufacture all consumer electronics, or losing some kind of bet.

Mark Trail, 2/10/10

Mark Trail, on the other hand, doesn’t have to resort to any kind of gimmickry to keep our attention; this wacky fight scene is simultaneously the funniest thing on the comics page today and exactly what one might expect from this strip after yesterday’s slap-happy senatorial antics. It’s hard for me to even begin to decide which panel I like most. Is it panel one, in which Joe punches an elderly politician in the face while (in accordance with the iron-clad Code of the Forest) shunning contractions? Is it panel two, in which a squirrel observes these foolish humans and their violent dispute-resolution process with an inscrutable and disinterested eye? I may actually prefer panel three; Moe’s dialogue implies that we’ve got a vicious and possibly fatal beating in progress, but the art makes it look like he just wants a hug, just a little affection from Mark, is that too much to ask?

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Mary Worth, 2/7/10

Uh oh — it looks like Dawn isn’t going to sit back just acquiesce to losing her father’s affections to some scam artist! It seems that she is going to try shock therapy by finding the one person who can be guaranteed to terrify Wilbur back to his senses: erstwhile romantic rival Martin Clark. Sure, he’s been dead for years, but that will make the ultimate confrontation all the more harrowing, as Dawn rigs up the rich man’s corpse to move and speak like a marionette. “Look at me, Wilbur!” Martin will say, thanks to the ventriloquist lessons Dawn’s been taking on the sly. “I’m a charred, reassembled cadaver, and yet Abby would still choose me over you!”

Blondie, 2/7/10

This right here is seven panels of Superbowl Sunday inanity punctuated by one glorious moment of complete madness. I suppose that longtime readers of Blondie are supposed to know that spinning around on one’s head is an indicator of extreme, uncontrollable emotion of some kind, but to the casual viewer, it would just appear that Dagwood, Herb, and Daisy have chosen to express their football-related outrage with a stunning display of eerily synchronized breakdancing. Which I for one am totally in favor of.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 2/7/10

You know who I just realized that I totally don’t get at all? Berna! She’s Rex and June’s receptionist and she runs a successful salon of some sort and she uses Yugoslav generalissimo Tito’s recipes to dominate the local restaurant scene? Why would such a power broker need a relatively menial job behind a clinic’s front desk? Perhaps she uses it to drum up business for her salon. “Honey, trust me, Western medicine can’t do a thing about those split ends. Here’s my number.”

Meanwhile, I look forward to seeing how this strip attempts to make a guy named “Toots” who has a stripey rugby shirt, a goofy little beard, and a lot of hair gel into some kind of threat against Rex and June’s carefully constructed bourgeois order.

Marvin, 2/7/10

Since we only get a single glimpse of Marvin’s dad in this strip, in which he appears to be a good 15 or 20 feet away from his terrible little son and not getting any closer, I’m guessing this is less “father/son bonding” and more “let’s bring the hateful monster outside and leave him there until he ‘accidentally’ freezes to death.”