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Mark Trail, 1/10/17

Hey, remember four and a half years ago when Rusty dozed off and had a vivid dream about dinosaurs? Well, now he’s out picking apples for his pancakes (don’t ask, man) and has suddenly encountered … a giraffe!? [record scratch noise] I’m assuming the whole apple-picking sequence was a dream to start with, or maybe he ate some “bad apples” (ha ha, get it, wait, no I mean it literally) and is hallucinating, but maybe … this giraffe escaped from the circus? Or from Africa? Maybe it’s an agent of Chris “Dirty” Dyer, recently resident in Africa himself, as part of the sport of hunting down Mark Trail? I imagine this majestic African herbivore would appreciate being the hunter rather than the hunted for once. Shoe’s on the other hoof now, H. sapiens!

Shoe, 1/10/17

The Perfesser’s extreme depression is of course legendary, but let’s not neglect the sad state of his nephew/ward’s emotional life. He should be at least a little gleeful at the prospect of subverting the banal expectations of his teachers, but he’s clearly crushed by the burden of coming up with yet another quippy answer to his test. “Is this … is this what they want?” he seems to be thinking, as he slouches down into his desk. “Is this all there is?”

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Mary Worth, 1/9/18

I’m really excited to watch Wilbur’s emotional journey to healing over the coming … weeks? Months? Today, for instance, we can tell he’s moving forward a bit because rather than just shoving that muffin down his gullet to fill the hole inside him where love used to be, he’s taking a moment to enjoy its bouquet, as he would with a fine wine. Meanwhile, Dawn, wide-eyed and still rolling on Molly after another night of clubbing, is about to blow through the kitchen and disrupt Wilbur’s philosophical mindset with some manic, MDMA-addled chatter.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/9/18

“Yes, ancillary character who I’m pretty sure was just introduced into this narrative specifically for the super-depressing ‘Bull vanishes into dementia‘ arc! Only you can still bring joy to this household. He certainly never smiles around me, his own wife! Ha ha, my life isn’t a hell, at all!”

Six Chix, 1/9/18

Here is a comic where dogs discuss the fact that they can’t fuck. Enjoy!

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Spider-Man, 1/8/18

Huh, so, when they set up that Doctors Banner and Connors have the same incredibly rare blood type, I assumed the meant, like … a super-powered sci-fi blood type? One conducive to turning people into green monsters? Not, you know, AB negative, a normal human characteristic which is rare in that it’s the least common of all the possible blood types, but even at about 0.6% of the population, that’s still thousands and thousands of people in Dade County alone! So I’m not sure it’s really a “we need a specific donor right away from whom we can siphon delicious blood” scenario, but thank goodness Bruce will soon be there, having already removed his shirt to make finding a vein that much quicker and easier.

Slylock Fox, 1/8/18

Speaking of South Florida, I love that Max is planning on attending a beach wedding by throwing a jacket on over his usual total absence of a shirt. I think Slylock’s giving him bad advice, though. He needs to bring both jackets — black for a sophisticated look at the beach, and then change to white for those hot Miami nights on the dance floor.

Funky Winkerbean, 1/8/18

Somehow Funky ended last week’s AA meeting diatribe by concluding that the world was so messed up that it went way past the point where he should start drinking again, so I guess that’s … a cheerful ending? Anyway, now we’ve moved on to another classic topic of Funkyverse japery, Bull Bushka’s encroaching TBI-caused dementia. You know what they say! Old ballers never die … their minds just fade away, leaving them a wizened husk of their former self. In a way, it’s like a living death. Then they do die, eventually, but by then it’s a blessing. THAT’S THE PUNCHLINE TO TODAY’S STRIP EVERYBODY