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B.C., 2/3/10

Whoah, post-Johnny Hart B.C. is dangerously flirting with relevance, using as a cultural touchstone an actor whose career popularity peaked a mere 15 to 20 years ago! Perhaps — and this is just a suggestion — this joke shouldn’t have paired overacting with the name of a man who’s mostly known for squinting at the camera in an expression that might be described as either stoic or confused, depending on how charitable you’re being.

Momma, 2/3/10

It’s kind of disappointing that the first Momma to acknowledge that the title character is in fact 11 inches tall is also the one where her son leaves her outside in the snow to freeze to death.

Luann, 2/3/10

I’m pretty sure this is the opening scene of a film used as aversion therapy for porn addicts.

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People! Normally, I don’t bother you with metaposts mid-week, but I’ve received a bevy of Mark Trail related delights from readers over the past few weeks that I feel deserve their own showcase!

First up is a book discovered by faithful reader Charterstoned:

Note that it’s Mark Trail’s Fishing Tips Created By Ed Dodd, with the actual authorship left vague. Presumably this book was churned out by strip creator Dodd’s lowly assistant, while Dodd partied till all hours with Hollywood big shots.

This is clearly the high point of the whole book, in which an innocent young boy cringes in terror at the approach of a menacing weirdo in a hat. Don’t worry, kid; he just wants your gum … for now.

Also, you can tell the difference between the various almost-identical kinds of catfish you catch, assuming that counting the number of rays on on a dead, smelly fish’s fins is your idea of a good time.

Of course, it wouldn’t be Mark Trail without a freakishly oversized animal. Fishing dude who may or may not be Mark is so smug about his little pie-pan trick that he doesn’t even notice the giant carnivorous moth that’s about to latch onto his face.

Meanwhile, faithful reader Jasper Jinks sends a couple of scans from a 1956 Mark Trail comic book put out by the U.S. Public Health Service.

An “industrial problem” that’s “being licked all over America by plain citizens, working together at the local level for everyone’s benefit”? Translation: Mark Trail is a dirty communist. A dirty communist in terrifying jodhpurs.

The plot of this tract involves a rotten little kid who gets a little under the weather after swimming in a watering hole containing industrial run-off from some awesomely profitable factory. Here’s a scene of the crazed Marxist lynch mob Mark puts together to put a stop to progress. Note that Mark is clenching his fist in case political agitation fails and he needs to punch pollution out of the water:

Of course, seeing old Mark Trails like this makes one wonder how similar they are to the current version. Well, a lot more than you might think! Faithful reader These Strange Worlds has put together an exhaustive comparison showing how much of the current storyline is recycled from one that ran 30 years ago.

And, finally, fans of Mark Trail and making fun of Mark Trail should check out Mark Stale. “What’s wrong, Rusty? Why are you lying awake, whimpering like a baby?” (Thanks to faithful reader festoonic for the tip.)

Oh, also, if you are going to be in the mid-Atlantic region over the weekend of May 22, perhaps you will want to get in on a meetup faithful reader bourbon babe is planning? Certain bloggers who live in that neck of the woods will in all probability make an appearance! (HINT HINT)

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Archie, 2/2/10

There are a number of unsettling objects that have spilled out of Jughead’s locker. It’s probably actually not unsettling to see that Jughead owns at least one spare crown-hat; I had (I think with some justification, based on his character) assumed that Jughead only owned a single hat, which was by this point frayed and stained with years of hair-grease. Any points gained for this are instantly lost, however, by the sight of that sandwich, which despite its many layers is cohering together as a single, immutable unit as it tumbles across the rubble, possibly due to its condiments having long ago congealed into a binding more powerful than concrete. And, of course, the less said about the tiny scale model of Archie as a double amputee the better.

Crock, 2/2/10

Wow, if you had asked me who Crock’s chief gag artist saw as his avatar in the strip, the loathed and incompetent leader of the Lost Patrol would not have been anywhere on my list. But I can sort of see the connection.

Marmaduke, 2/2/10

Ha ha, some namby-pamby liberal judge thinks that Marmaduke can be restrained from his usual horrors by an electronic ankle bracelet! At best, the device will merely offer the authorities the means to create a real-time map of his swath of devastation.

Mary Worth, 2/2/10

Even Wilbur is getting bored by the tales of his romantic failures, and so he decides to liven things up with a hearty Black Power salute. Soon afterwards, someone comes by and gives him a soothing scalp massage, if what I’m seeing in panel two makes any sort of sense in the Euclidian space-time continuum that I’m accustomed to.

Phantom, 2/2/10

So, it appears that the Phantom is going to use his presumed widowhood to go around boffing all the ladies who ever had eyes for him. We begin with Captain Savarna, who made eyes at him during the Crocco Adventure (no, really) that happened last year, and is now wooing him with her butt-sculpting “uniform” pants and strokeable phallic torpedoes. Later, our hero will presumably finally make the Jungle Patrol gals’ dreams of seducing their Unknown Commander come true. We’ll eventually find out how well the “But honey, I assumed you were dead!” approach works as a justification for infidelity, especially when the unfaithful partner doesn’t bother to do much legwork to actually confirm his widowed status.

Momma, 2/2/10

Based on what I’ve learned from Apartment 3-G, I’m guessing Momma is showing up for her weekly sex-for-pills appointment. The pinched look on her face indicates that she’s past the point of even pretending to enjoy it.