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Pluggers, 9/13/18

Here’s some “behind the scenes” scoop: I was originally going to just do a drive-by “Haw haw pluggers don’t use computers” joke here, but then I thought: you know, in reality, pluggers have been going online for years now, as any visit to Facebook clearly indicates. And so I decided instead to do a deep dive on the rewards program at the Golden Corral, aka the “Good as Gold Club” and God damn if the FAQ isn’t a veritable gold mine of plugger-tastic questions presumably frequently asked by pluggers everywhere, including:

• “Why am I having trouble viewing my email?”
• “My coupon will not print correctly, what should I do?”
• “I do not have a printer, what should I do?” (“SOLUTION: If you cannot access a printer (at home or perhaps a public library), you will need to call ahead and speak with the management at your preferred Golden Corral restaurant to inquire about presenting your coupon via a mobile device” sorry about how much time you have to spend on the phone with pluggers talking about this, Golden Corral managers)
• “I received my birthday coupon, but my spouse did not, what should I do?” (“Most likely, this means that you and your spouse (or family member) both registered in one of our restaurants using the same email address.” HELL YEAH YOU KNOW PLUGGERS AND THEIR SPOUSES SHARE EMAIL ADDRESSES)

Anyway, other than the oblique reference to a “birthday coupon” there’s no actual description on the site of what you get for being a Good as Gold Club member or why you’d want to join. I guess only true pluggers understand the value of selfless loyalty to a family-style chain restaurant brand.

Dennis the Menace, 9/13/18

There’s been what’s to me a fairly noticeable shift in the Dennis the Menace art this week, accompanied by a change in signature from this:

To a more legible “S. Ketcham.” According to Wikipedia, “Hank Ketcham retired from the comic strip in 1994, turning over production of the strip to his assistants Ron Ferdinand and Marcus Hamilton. They continued it as a ‘zombie strip’ after Ketcham’s death in 2001, where the two, and since 2010, Scott Ketcham, continue the strip.” I guess the previous signature is a “Hamilton,” and even though Scott (Hank’s son) has been involved for eight years now, I assume he’s now … drawing it? Or something? I can’t find any other news about this online at the moment. Anyway, I doubt that this personnel change is going to lead to big changes like adding a new character to the strip, because you don’t run a cartoon for nearly 70 years because people like change, but just look at how horrified Alice is by the very thought of it! I’m not sure if her main worry is having another menacing offspring, or the process of childbirth, or just having sex with Henry again, but she’s definitely cringing in disgust at some combination of the three.

Mary Worth, 9/13/18

Now, I know everyone’s about to attack Toby for being cruel or heartless or whatever, but keep this in mind: you don’t spend the best years of your life married to Ian Cameron without occupying a great deal of your time calculating your loved ones’ remaining lifespan and figuring out the precise length of time one might be expected to mourn them when they finally, blessedly, die.

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Mary Worth, 8/29/18

Oh, man, this Mary Worth, plot is getting really great right away, and having written that I realize it sounds sarcastic but I promise that it is not. What do you think it is that makes Mr. Wynter so unlikeable? Is he just a lonely, emotionally needy old man who will latch onto anyone who makes eye contact and drain them of energy with endless boring conversation? Is he a gross pervy weirdo who makes everyone, but especially members of the Charterstone early-middle-aged trophy wife set that comprises Toby’s peer group, profoundly uncomfortable? We also can’t discount the possibility that “Mr. Wynter” is the dog’s name, and he’s just really bitey.

Judger Parker, 8/29/18

Oh, right, I haven’t been keeping you up with Judge Parker, like, at all, but basically the CIA tracked down April and her father to their safe house not particularly safe cabin out in the woods, and he’s decided to sacrifice himself for her, going down in a hail of bullets while April escapes. And now she’s going to keep running, keep running until there’s no one left to chase her … or, as she appears to be doing in panel two, keep ambling, just keep just kind of gently jogging away from the dozens of trained assassins who want her dead until they lose interest, I guess.

Mark Trail, 8/29/18

Hey, remember when Rusty thought there was an ancient Aztec temple called Chicken Itza? Remember when Rusty almost got killed by a tree? Remember when Rusty got stuck under a car? I wouldn’t worry about how smart these kids are, is what I’m saying.

Pluggers, 8/29/18

It’s not clear what terrifies pluggers more: emotional intimacy or any reminder of their own mortality.

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Mark Trail, 8/23/18

Welp, it’s taken a while, but this Mark Trail storyline has finally settled into a groove, and that groove is mysterious, silent figures staring at our protagonists from a few feet away, causing a weirdly mild degree of consternation rather than the full-on terror that normal humans would experience. Shadow and light flicker across the scene, seemingly disconnected from any actual light source. It’s a horrifying dreamscape, in other words, and it’s only going to get more surreal and nightmarish as our curious children go deeper into this temple of awful secrets. Also, Rusty, has a new nickname, and it’s “crime dog” for some reason! Ha ha! “Crime dog!” Arf arf!

Gil Thorp, 8/23/18

“Hey, Josh,” you were probably extremely not wondering, “how’s that Gil Thorp golf plot going?” Well, the golf plot turns out to be a plot about golf cheating, which allows Gil to thunder extremely self-righteously about how golf is a sport built on honor, so that’s how it’s going, I regret to inform you. Gil seems beaten down here, longing for just a few short weeks from today, when he’ll be coaching football, a sport built openly on lies and deceit.

Pluggers, 8/23/18

Pluggers feel the icy hand of death on their neck literally every day of their rapidly shortening lives.