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Mark Trail, 3/22/09

Is this more Mark Trail misogyny? “Hey fellas, when these ‘roly-poly’ liberated broads want you to help with the kids, it sure does cut into your ‘extracurricular activities,’ amiright? By the way, these feminist grub-eating freaks are the ‘bald eagles of New Zealand,’ which tells you all you need to know about New Zealand. USA NUMBER 1!”

Blondie, 3/22/09

“Emily Armful”? “Clint Brawny”? I … I think that Dagwood and Blondie spent New Years at some kind of adult film industry event. I suppose that would be a particularly lucrative market for a caterer to try to break into.

Judge Parker, 3/22/09

In the final panel of today’s Judge Parker, we learn that this whole “changing my image and trying out for the cheerleading squad” routine has been a smokescreen; Sophie apparently intends to get her revenge on the popular girls who wronged her by simply murdering them. In fact, she’s so pleased with herself that she’s broken out into a little disco dance routine. “My en-e-mies won’t be stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive…”

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Mark Trail, 3/21/09

Now, there are certain aspects of this current Mark Trail storyline that some readers might deem “unrealistic.” For instance, in this suspicious day and age, would the average service employee just start handing out addresses (or, in this case, vague descriptions of cabin locations) of customers to any sideburned prison-orange-clad total strangers who ask? Perhaps not; but then again, would your average counter jockey even know where most of his customers live? I think it’s obvious that our mustachioed barista is, by the very virtue of his mustache, Mark’s sworn enemy. You’ll note that his facial hair is particularly outlandish, with a waxed curlicue on the left side of his face and an unruly bristle on the right; surely such a hairy-lipped cad can’t have lived in such close proximity to Mark for this long and escaped his righteous fists. Too cowardly to seek revenge himself, he instead recognizes a kindred spirit in his fellow baldy, and hopes to set the stage for Mark’s destruction by sending these two ne’er-do-wells right to our hero’s LoFo lair.

Funky Winkerbean, 3/21/09

Funky Winkerbean is cruel both to its characters and to its readers. We’ve endured this strip’s grey drone of depression for long enough; surely we earned the right to see the bloody, limb-severing melée that broke out when Harry Dinkle attempted to “conduct” his symphony. But no, instead of enjoying the catharsis and seeing the band room splattered with gore, we’re only treated to seeing one of the few students who somehow escaped the carnage, still in shock and just starting to come to terms to what she saw. Very unsatisfying.

Crock, 3/21/09

The war crimes trial of Commandant Vermin P. Crock was full of shocking revelations that brought First World citizens face to face with the atrocities that marked the colonial wars fought in their name. But it was the testimony about the Legion’s use of child soldiers that had the biggest impact on world opinion. “I loved those boys!” the defendant professed tearfully on the witness stand. “I made sure they received an excellent education, even in the midst of their military duties!” Was it a cynical attempt to blunt the force of the fury that had risen against him? Or was he genuinely blind to the enormity of what he had done to those children?

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Gil Thorp, 3/20/09

Well, it looks like it’s that time of the season again, when Gil realizes that whatever squad he’s doing a half-assed job of coaching at the moment won’t be going to the playdowns, so he needs to make a half-assed attempt to intervene in the most egregious of the stupid dramas playing out among his charges in order to vaguely justify his existence. (If he doesn’t do this at least once every three months, they’ll take his name off the strip entirely and call it The Magical, Boozy Antics Of Marty Moon.) This spring’s crisis involves the Larsons, who are quite reasonably worried that they’ve moved their kids from the warm, nurturing environment of New York City into some kind of degenerate hellhole where they’ve become romantically entangled with vest-wearing fans of wacky, theatrical surf-rock bands. Gil needs that coffee, as he’s almost certainly come straight to Chez Larkin from PUB, as his drunken logic indicates. “See, Ashley and Dylan are all right kids … but, uh, don’t judge Milford based on them! We’re better than they are! Not that they’re … bad … per se … uh, what’s with those rays coming out of your eyes? Are you trying to use your mind control powers on me?”

Luann, 3/20/09

Well, there you have it. The big TJ mystery that’s been percolating since at least last Thanksgiving has been … solved! All thanks to a paragraph of exposition crammed into a single panel during a porch-based conversation. That should prove wrong everyone who thought the resolution to this plot point would be prurient, or interesting.

Slylock, 3/20/09

What kind of message are we sending to the young people of today? Look at this irresponsible bird, giving birth to an out-of-wedlock egg and then just strolling casually off! Where is this supposed to be, the ladies room at Parrot Prom?

Family Circus, 3/20/09

The way this little mob of melonheads is gathering at the open doorway, all staring silently at their teacher in her new short skirt and listening to Billy’s slander, is making me nervous. Miss McElfresh is about to find out how they deal with the Sin of Pride here at the Keane Kompound. (Hint: It involves rocks. Many sharp rocks.)