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Gil Thorp, 10/30/09

I may not be the most knowledgeable guy in the world when it comes to football — I lost all my play money in my family’s NFL pool by the end of week four this year — but I know enough to know that generally when one of your guys runs a punt back 98 yards for a touchdown, that’s a good thing, right? And yet there’s Coach Kaz, looking horrified and flapping his hands around theatrically. I suppose it’s not considered classy to run up the score when you’re already winning by more than two touchdowns in the fourth quarter, and we’re going learn some Valuable Lessons About Sportsmanship.

In a larger sense, I’m finally figuring out that there are really only two basic story-driving Mudlark character types: troubled loners and loudmouth jerks. And in this year’s football storyline we’re getting one of each! In SAT analogy terms, Duncan Daley:Cully Vale::Jamarr Gaddis:Andrew Gregory.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/30/09

Oh, man, just when I thought I couldn’t love Cue any more, what with his shiny bald head, his general attitude right on the border between menace and dyspepsia, and his continued and reckless use of the word “crib,” it turns out that he’s also a small-time pot dealer! “Take it easy man … I just called to get some weed” shall be solemnly inscribed in the book of Greatest Rex Morgan Quotes Ever; it certainly compares favorably to “Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to kill your buzz” for soap opera drug lingo verisimilitude. Now, you might think that Cue is being pretty selfless, passing up an opportunity to profit from the sale of illegal narcotics in order to bring these poor souls back to their home, but he’s actually thinking strategically. Someone in his line of work would love to have contact with a group of people who are largely idle all day, have a little bit of money, and don’t particularly care about any damage they might do to their short-term memory. Yes, sir, this trip’s gonna be lucrative for ol’ Cue, reward or no.

For Better Or For Worse, 10/30/09

Today is the day when I break my blood oath to ignore the pure rerun installments of FBOFW on this blog. I do so because I am so very, very amused by the title of the girlie magazine that John is reading not ten feet away from his wife in panel three. What sort of photography, pray tell, graces the inside pages of Nacho Man? Are there pictures of nearly nude ladies, their most intimate parts concealed only by a thick, gelatinous layer of melted nacho cheese? Are there sexy photo spreads featuring other popular bar foods, like chicken wings or mozzarella sticks? The mind boggles, and one ought to be thankful that we can clearly see both of John’s hands. Also of note is the ad on the back of this fine publication for Lion Tamer cologne, which, I assume, smells of sawdust, circus peanuts, panicked sweat, and lion shit.

Crock, 10/30/09

I kind of love the miserable expression on the face of Anonymous Legionnaire On The Left in panel two. It’s as if he knows that he will only appear in this one strip, and that his only purpose in his mayfly-brief existence is to elicit the punchline for this awful, awful joke, but despite that terrible self-knowledge, he is incapable of stopping himself.

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Apartment 3-G, 10/26/09

Oh my goodness, is flowzy floozy Bobbie Merrill trying to worm her way into my heart, or does this sort of behavior just come naturally to the pill-addled blonde? She knows how the world works, of course — you send a gift basket to the crooked head-shrinker who’ll write a script for whatever it is you’re jonesing for when you show off some ankle; that much is given. But that doesn’t mean that she has to like how the sordid game is played, or that she has to make nice with the gift basket industry that profits from these little social niceties or the concierges who piggyback on for the ride and expect their own cut. No, Bobbie has bigger fish to fry, and by “bigger fish” she means “a tractor-trailer full of Ambien,” and by “fry” she means “rob at gunpoint.”

Mark Trail, 10/26/09

You know what would be completely hilarious and rad? If Mark were really serious about leaving the swamp tomorrow without even a cursory attempt to track down the poachers vigilante-style and punch them. “Sorry, fellas, I’m on vacation! You can kill and skin all the alligators you want, see if I care.”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/26/09

Wait a minute, Baldy “Punk Rocker” “Earrings” McPunky O’Thug’s real name (or real nickname) is Cue? As in a cue ball, which is white and spherical, much like Cue’s head? This is the greatest moment in Rex Morgan Sinister Bad Guy Billiards-Related Naming since the appearance of a black drug dealer named Eightball.

Presumably Cue will learn from his offscreen media-savvy friend that there’s a big reward out for these runaways, and will heroically drive them back to their substandard nursing home, where he’ll be lauded at a press conference and receive the key to the city from the mayor. Meanwhile, Becka and Tim will continue to drive aimlessly around soggy golf courses, staying out so late that Becka’s husband will suspect her of infidelity, leading to further marital turmoil, divorce, and emotional anguish. You may think that sounds harsh, but I want every non-Cue, non-Alzheimers-afflicted character in this story to suffer terribly. Even Rex and June should be punished, for abandoning us to this mess.

Funky Winkerbean, 10/26/09

“Things can always get worse” = the new Funky Winkerbean mission statement, obviously. The only question: is that cop ringing the doorbell to announce that Cory’s dead, or that one or more people are dead because Cory killed them?

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Mary Worth, 10/23/09

My goodness, is Mary actually admitting that (a) she once didn’t know everything and (b) she once had the capacity for love? This is like hearing Satan mention that he once attended junior high school. Anyway, this anecdote seems to be going to some kind of “and then he died” place that can’t possibly make Adrian feel any better. “So during one of these periods when I was punishing him with my silence for his transgressions, he was killed in a shootout when his police unit was raiding an opium den. I felt terrible about it, for a week or so, but then it passed! What I’m trying to say, dear, is that if you make your heart an icy stone, nothing can hurt you.”

My Cage, 10/23/09

My goodness, I have to admit that when Jeff’s son mentioned yesterday that he’d be playing a character from a comic strip in his school play, Masky McDeath never once occurred to me as a possible candidate. Well played, Ed Power, writer of My Cage! Let us know what it’s like waking up tomorrow with Lisa’s tumor-ridden head in your bed.

Pluggers, 10/23/09

Having already absorbed hipsters and hippies into their collective, pluggers have settled on their next target: preppies. It’s pretty clear now that nobody is safe, and those of us who refuse to settle for life as folksy, semi-literate furries need to start preparing for the final, apocalyptic war for survival.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 10/23/09

Can’t you just hear the little metaphorical lightbulb switching on over Earrings O’Punk’s shaved, off-screen noggin in the final panel in this strip? I certainly hope the denouement of this plot finds him at the crooked old folks home, feigning dementia to score free meals. He deserves a happy ending, as he’s by far the most sympathetic character in this storyline.

Marmaduke, 10/23/09

Marmaduke’s owner was hoping that he would “take care” of the town’s homelessness problem by going down to the shelter and devouring all the hapless hobos. Instead, he’s assembled a pack of stray dogs who will urinate on every single piece of furniture that his owners possess.