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The only thing more boring than art crime is art perjury

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/19/22

Well, it looks like Rex has only one chance to stave off total financial annihilation in the Case Of The Intellectual Property Violation That Sarah Definitely Did: get Kelly, who served as Sarah’s minder when Sarah first saw the adorable characters she later viciously stole, to lie on the stand about it. The problem: that’s a job for sassy, give-no-fucks Kelly, not dull, goody-goody narc Kelly, but part of giving no fucks means not bothering to go spend a day in a boring-ass courtroom to help anyone else. Rex needs to thread the needle to achieve the perfect balance between the Kelly’s yin and yang, but what looks like the beginning of an eye roll in panel two seems to say that she’s already slipping out of his grasp.

The Lockhorns, 1/19/22

Oh, by the way, it seems that Leroy Lockhorn has finally figured out how to escape his nagging wife: by uploading his mind to the Internet and becoming a being of pure thought. And you know what? Good for him.

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Did they try to make his eyes kind of sexy? I hate this

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Dick Tracy, 1/18/22

Oh, look, everybody, it’s another quick Dick Tracy Minit Mystery, starring [steadfastly refuses to do any actual research on the relative popularity of Dick Tracy villains] everybody’s favorite villain, Piston Puss! According to the invaluable Dick Tracy wiki, Piston Puss has appeared in exactly one other storyline, in 1966, which means that the Giant Wheel Of Obscure Old Dick Tracy Characters the creative team spins every time they need a new antagonist must be even bigger than I thought. Anyway, clearly this mystery is going to somehow hinge on the order in which the various suspects hung their coats on that rack, so it’s too bad that Piston Puss’s wiki entry doesn’t say whether or not he’s partial to fur coats. Meanwhile, I have some notes on his character design and overall execution: if his name is Piston Puss, shouldn’t his face be a piston? Putting some half-assed metal disks over his ears does not make his face a piston, I regret to inform you. Also, call me bigoted if you must, but I would not hire a part-car, part-man person to work at a car dealership, because I would worry that he would try to eat the cars, or perhaps make love to them.

Mary Worth, 1/18/22

Haha, welp, looks like Wilbur’s not only still alive, but he didn’t even lose his glasses or his belt! We’re not even going to get the pleasure of watching him stumbling around this desert island, unable to see anything and desperately trying to keep his pants from falling down! Don’t think we’ll be satisfied by his comically ruffled combover! We Mary Worth readers aren’t mere goldfish, content to gobble up whatever flakes you drop down on us! IF WILBUR ISN’T DEAD, HE MUST AT LEAST SUFFER

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HE SHOULDN’T BE ALIVE

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Marvin, 1/17/22

Man, say what you will about Marvins where the joke is about pooping or peeing, but at least I have some grip on what’s happening in those (Marvin is pooping or peeing, and it’s disgusting). This one, I … am a little lost on? Like technically there are a near-infinite number of vacations you could label a “no skiing” vacation, but I guess that’s supposed to be where you go to a ski lodge but don’t ski, and just drink hot cocoa by the fire instead? But also, did Jeff just forget about this long-planned vacation coming up, because I feel like Jenny shouldn’t have such a sunny smile in panel two if he did. It’s weird! It’s not totally insane or anything, but the whole thing’s a little bit off! That’s why I propose an alternate interpretation: Jenny has set aside the coming weekend for her and Jeff to finally kick the cocaine habit, and Jeff’s not super jazzed about it.

Mary Worth, 1/17/22

Oh, hey, so, uh, in other news, Wilbur is alive, everybody! Wilbur … is alive? Somehow? Did we ever establish where this cruise was happening? Because if it was a west coast cruise, it’s not like there are tons of islets within drunken floating distance of the cruise lanes. That’s why I’m hoping that Wilbur has actually reached one of the upper levels of hell for comic characters, which is that you have to be the hilariously disheveled guy on a tiny desert island with two palm trees in a New Yorker cartoon. Or, better, that’s his corpse, and for the rest of the week we get to watch crabs eat it.