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Rex Morgan, M.D., 12/20/05

Wow, how much do I not find the current Rex Morgan, M.D. storyline interesting? A lot. I find it a lot not interesting. I’m not even going to bother summarizing Scrap Iron Jack’s boring quest for a good poker game, which seems to have occupied the last umpteen weeks. I do have to say that our one-eyed vet’s sweaty brow and vibrating head don’t really match up with what I understand to be the typical symptoms of compulsive gambling. He’s looking for Texas Hold ‘Em, not smack. Unless this is about the painkiller subplot that was dropped like a hot potato towards the beginning of this tedious slog, I’m unimpressed.

Anyway, the only reason I find this comic worthy of mention is the coif on our fetching bartender here (you probably can’t read it in this low-res graphic no matter how much you stare at her ample bosom, but her name tag indicates that she’s “Iris”). It’s shiny. Very, very shiny. Why is it shiny? How is it shiny? Is the answer to either question related to her daring decision to wear black lipstick to work? It’s the answers to these questions that Rex Morgan, M.D. should be tracking down, but Iris will no doubt be long forgotten by the time Jack gets to his first Gamblers Anonymous meeting sometime in 2009.

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Nothing really inspired me on Sunday … so how about three quickies from today?

Gil Thorp, 11/21/05

Dear Gil Thorp: All is forgiven. Retroactively and in advance. All of it — the bad hair, crappy art, Brent “Rap Dog” — all of the pain has been washed away by this beautiful moment. It may be that the weeks of the Brick House storyline have entirely existed to set up the exchange in panel three here. If that’s the case, I will testify in a court of law that it has not been time wasted.

The Middletons, 11/21/05

Sweet Christ, The Middletons, what sort of sick sadist are you? To portray these noble birds responding to that call for freedom and life that beats within the heart of every living being, making a desperate bid to escape, only to find the gutted, skinned, and cooked corpses of their unfortunate fellows? Oh, the horror! THE HORROR!

Seriously, though, I’m sure looking forward to Thanksgiving this Thursday, ’cause I like me some gravy and some turkey skin. Mmmm… skin. Sorry fellas!

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/21/05

More proof: you can send a man to med school, but you can’t make him care.

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Three for Thursday today, folks:

Gasoline Alley, 11/10/05

Check out the turtle-mouthed death’s-head look that the hateful Lil Skinner is sporting in panel one. You don’t know how much I wanted this to be the harbinger of the horrible truth: that Lil really was dead, and that Slim was carrying on a week’s worth of Norman Bates-style insane conversation with her withered, husk-like corpse. Unfortunately, Clovia seems to see her alive and well in panel three, so I guess we’re stuck with yet more hijinks from the comics pages’ most transparent sociopath.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/10/05

OK, OK, Rex Morgan, we get it, OK? You like to look up Rex’s nose. But why do you have to make us look up his nose so often?

Sheesh.

Curtis, 11/10/05

Now, I mock Curtis a lot. I’m a Curtis-mocker, it’s fair to say. But I do like the art, and it’s growing on me more and more over time. What comic would spend time lovingly detailing a large, late-middle-age woman with a gynormous bosom as she levitates three feet off the ground in wide-eyed panic? Curtis would, that’s who. And I for one salute it.

Speaking of sociopaths, I’m guessing the perpetrator of this arachnoid outrage is none other than “Tuffy,” the kid who brought a gun to school a few weeks ago; it turned out to be a squirt gun, but it still would have gotten him sent to a lock-down facility in any actual school district in twenty-first century America. His capacity for over-the-top mischief seems matched only by his unfounded loyalty to Curtis, which could result in discomfort-causing storylines far more intriguing than that damn invisible lizard’s latest antics.