Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

So, Dawn Weston has successfully surfed the ‘Net and has discovered that Kurt Evans is some other guy’s bastard son.  Personally, I think blowing the lid off this scam is the only course of action, but hey, I don’t live in the same condo community as Mary, either…

Of course, allegiances in Charterstone come and go, and who might’ve been a nemesis one day could be a BFF the next.  (If Dawn turns into Mary Worth 2.0, heads will roll, however.)

Oh, well, nope, I guess not…Dawn is on her own:

Someone finally suggests in the hallowed halls of Charterstone that Wilbur and the mysterious Kurt Evans go for DNA testing to determine if Wilbur was shooting blanks or not back in the 70s.

Not blanks, more like BBs, I guess.

Sure there’s Aldo and Chinbeard and Toe-bee and Dawn and Adrian and Charley Smith and the Skipper and the rest…but we’re all here for Mary.

And don’t you forget it!

Even though some people just don’t appreciate her, it seems:

…you have to expect some problems.

Thanks to CC’s commodorejohn for the suggestion of mashing the guys on land and the guys at sea.

Kurt might be a li’l slow on the uptake, but he gets it in the clinch:

I keep telling myself, “At least it’s not a golf game.”

While I didn’t notice, several folks at The Comics Curmudeon zeroed in on Kurt’s snazzy footwear:

I haz it.

I think that strips like Mary Worth and Rex Morgan, M.D. suffer more than anyone can imagine when their titular (*snort*) characters go MIA.  At the moment, Rex isn’t doing much besides sniffing milk and listening to the line of bull-doody Cousin Brook is feeding him — but it’s Rex! With his concerned looks, quizzical looks, sideways glances, everything Rexly!

On the other hand, it’s a death march at Wilbur’s condo, with Wilbur any moment going to trade in his daughter Dawn for his new BFF, his possibly bastard son Kurt. All while sitting on a sofa. Looking at old photos.  Imagine the excitement if Mary were on that couch, shooting daggers at Kurt!

Ah, but that’s not the case.  Instead, excitement between Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum, and Tweedle Dumber must be generated through rumor, speculation and new dialog.

Even a pinch of Mary goes a long way in spicing up things!

Well, okay — I’ll admit that Droopy Dawg Dawn sitting on the sofa is pretty amusing, in a sad, nobody-puts-Dawnie-in-the-corner-except-her-own-freaking’-father way:

Mary, if you know what’s good for you, Charterstone and Santa Royale, YOU’D be at Wilbur’s door in a heartbeat!

[The Next Day’s Panel]

What?!? Mary’s still not here?  Oh, lordy, lordy…

CC’s Master Softheart commented that nothing livens up a stagnant superhero comment like live artillery (The Phantom being a current case-in-point).  Hmmm…it is works for superheroes…

Oh, Dawn. What you failed to realize is that anyone with an XX chromosome will never win in the Charterstone universe.  Mary is the queen bee, one way or another.

CC’s thom noted a peculiar similarity between the current Worthian “lost son” story and one featured in another publication.

Delicate constitutions?

Prudent sensibilities?

Avert your eyes now…

So we’ve got Wilbur Weston’s mysterious “illegitimate son” going to meet his father.  Too bad a mustachioed cab driver drove (heh) several Comics Curminions to bad memories of the most famous mustachioed Santa Royalian of them all!

Sort of like that Christmas ghost story that English dude Dickens wrote, huh?

Over in the Big Apple, Margo’s parents (who never married — yeah, Margo’s a bastard, too, as if that weren’t apparent) are cozying up during the holidays, and her dad Martin presents her mom with ruby earrings. Or something:

And CC’s own bourbon babe, unbuckled paid tribute to Mark Trail’s daring assault on Otis P. Cornpone, Sheriff of the Law in Backwater County, in an attempt to save Rusty before the tide came in or he was eaten by crabs or pelicans or sand fleas:

(As sung by Mark Trail)

I punched the sheriff
But I didn’t punch the deputy, oh no!
I punched the sheriff
But I didn’t punch the deputy,
Yeah! All around in this beach town,
They’re trying to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the punching of a deputy,
For the nose of a deputy.
But I say:

I punched the sheriff.
But I swear it was for Rusty’s sake.
Where was the deputy?
I say: I punched the sheriff,
And I hope that Rusty’s still awake.

Of course, heartfelt lyrics like that absolutely demand chorus of backup singers.  Suitably cute (so Mark doesn’t feel obliged to punch them, too):

The Holidays are a WHIRLWIND!!!