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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.”

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Beetle Bailey, 2/4/10

OK, I’ll admit it: today’s unspeakably perverse Beetle Bailey, in which Sarge’s leering sex maniac of a dog takes him to some kind of canine fetish club, made me laugh. (I’m assuming the “fire plug dancing” bit means that their target audience is into watersports.) I think what makes this strip for me is Sarge’s look of wide-eyed innocence giving way to growing shock in the second panel. So many things he will learn tonight, about dogs and what they like to smell and/or pee on!

Gil Thorp, 2/4/10

I was going to make some sort of snide comment about how every sentence in panels two and three could be construed as a double entendre, but then I caught site of Gil’s sweater vest, and now can think about nothing but said sweater vest. Do you think it’s in Mudlark team colors? That would be ever so keen!

Mary Worth, 2/4/10

“It must be the same guy! Such an unusual name, after all!”

Dawn better keep track of her father while she thought-balloons, as Wilbur has snuck away to hunch over his computer in the background and go all crazy social-networking style. Watch out, Dawn! Maybe he’ll discover that daughter he always wanted!

Dennis the Menace, 2/4/10

Too bad you won’t be alive to see it, old man! Maybe Dennis’ll bring the little tykes over to dance on your grave!