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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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Mary Worth, 11/15/05

Yeah, reciting lines from a play! Or, you know, incredibly stilted dialogue from a lame soap opera comic!

OK, so because I am a little paranoid and self-important (aren’t these two sides of the same coin?) I wondered if “Josh” — who shares my name and hair color and penchant for trashing the dialogue in Mary Worth — weren’t a subtle homage to my greatness from the soapmeisters at King Features. I floated this theory to Mrs. C., who was with me until the part when I noted that this Josh was a workaholic.

Anyway, lots of good action in this strip — in motion line form! Watch out, Josh, Jane’s got a pointy nail heading right for your eye! He responds the only way he knows how — by grabbing her on the upper arms and rotating his freakishly oversized shoulders back and forth, hoping to somehow calm her down or at least induce motion sickness. Actually, with the big shoulders and the vibrating, it kind of looks like he’s wearing David Byrne’s big suit from the “Once In A Lifetime” video. Except this being Mary Worth, it’s been dyed electric blue for the occasion.

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When we last saw Wilbur’s beau Iris, she had mousy brown hair, a Victorian governess’s vocabulary, and some sort of black goo all over the middle of her face:

Since that time, we Mary-watchers have been on a magical mystery tour of honeymoon babies and drunken, clingy houseguests. But what’s Iris been up to? How’s she reacted to the incarceration of her two-time loser of a meth-dealing son?

Mary Worth, 11/7/05

Well, apparently she’s feeling better. Not only has she had some deep cleansing work done on her pores, but her hair’s been peroxided up like a Ukrainian mail-order bride’s. Yes, she’s been transformed from gloomy to sunny by a little Miss Clairol and a lot of the love of a good man!

By which I mean Wilbur.

Who appears to be stabbing himself in the throat with an undersized matzo ball. Or possibly a kumquat. It’s hard to tell.

Either way, he’s a real winner.

Apparently Iris and Wilbur’s relationship has advanced to the point where she feels free to correct him on his life’s work. Wilbur’s sour face in the first panel isn’t just a result of his accidentally jabbing himself in the Adam’s apple with some indistinguishable bite-sized taupe morsel: it’s reflective of his advice columnist M.O. “Yeah, it seems like your marriage is pretty much doomed.” “Peer pressure is tough when you’re a kid; if you want to have friends, you’re just going to have to drink, smoke, and put out.” “Gosh, your life doesn’t really sound to me like it’s worth living — have you considered suicide?” Perhaps his beblonded lady friend will help him turn that attitude around. Will he follow her advice — or reconsider his union?