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Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/13/13

I do really wonder at the plot development process that brought us a Rex Morgan, M.D., storyline that includes a sensitive treatment of breast cancer and its medical, economic, and psychological effects on people without health insurance, but also features sexy strippers getting into a cat fight over Rex. Was it conceived of as a single, organic whole, appearing as a creative vision in the writer’s mind? Is it the result of some synthesis, the product of a debate external (e.g., desperate stakeholders with conflicting visions arguing in a boardroom) or internal (e.g., a devil on the writer’s shoulder shouting “STRIPPERS!” and an angel shouting “CANCER!”)? Whatever got us here, it’s pretty great.

Two things in particular I’m fascinated by today are the waistline of BW’s pants, which seems to improbably dip down in the front to better showcase her washboard abs, and her nickname. I guess it’s pronounced “Bee Doubleyou,” but that doesn’t have any fewer syllables and is more awkward to pronounce than “Brenda Woods.” Plus the lack of periods when it’s written out seems a little odd. Is she maybe saying “Bwuh”?

Spider-Man, 1/13/13

“So it’s much more dramatically interesting this way than if he were, say, defeated by a super-hero, right? Everybody likes it better this way, right? So, um, that was my plan all along?”

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/3/13

There was a certain amount of of complaining around here yesterday about a plot point that I failed to bring up in my year-end review: namely, that Rex and June have succeeded in creating an embryonic human, presumably with their naughty bits. The reason I ignored this is because there wasn’t anything super funny about the way it was presented, but I am sort of intrigued by how subtly giddy the prospect of renewed fatherhood is making Rex. I have only vague memories of who “Melissa” is — I’m pretty sure she’s the cranky old lady who we met like three plot twists ago, who owns the building that her grandson is letting strippers have sexy cancer fundraisers in. Maybe she’ll help out! Maybe human beings are basically good! We’ll never know unless we ask! Who wants more margaritas! Oh wait I guess I’m drinking for two now, aren’t I June! Ha ha ha!

The unexplained tight-shirted lady wandering through the foreground panel one is a good example of why stripper storylines are a harsh mistress. You’ve committed to a boobtastic plot now; sure, your narrative might demand that you spend a little time away from Chez Exotic Dancer, but your readers know what they want, and they want women with prominent breasts.

Shoe, 1/3/13

They say that literature can make you feel like you’ve visited exotic places you’ve never been to, and it’s certainly true that, thanks to its recurrent appearance as a locale in Shoe, I feel very familiar with a certain category of terribly sad fern bar circa 1979 or so. Just look at those three faces in panel one, emotionally deadened in various harrowing ways; the fact that the bird-man on the right is talking about a botched suicide attempt should certainly come as no surprise to anyone.

Mary Worth, 1/3/13

Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Dill, did you think you were in charge of your own entry in this cake-design contest? Well, you aren’t. You asked for Mary’s help, and when you ask for Mary’s help, you do it Mary’s way.

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B.C., 12/8/12

The current B.C. management seems perversely intent on taking the gimmick essentially designed for clip art reuse — “character reads joke out of a book sitting on a rock” — and actually put some effort into it. Should the Wiley’s Dictionary rock be moved down by the seashore, so B.C./Thor/maybe other blond caveman whose name I don’t know can enjoy the pleasant breezes through the beach grass along with his terrible four-word joke? Sure, why not!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/8/12

What does it take to turn Rex’s omnipresent supercilious scowl into an extremely restrained smile? His inferiors recognizing that he deserves free stuff, of course! I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really care about marine mammals one way or the other, but I assume he’ll still sit there in the stands, watching the orca-frolic, thinking “Yes, this … this is my due.”

Apartment 3-G, 12/8/12

Wow, so Greg’s been chosen to play James Bond, one of the most famous and high-profile roles in all of entertainment, and Margo hadn’t heard anything about it? He must have a terrible publicist.