Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

Okay, to review this 9-month-long story:

• Rex’s patient Foster dies falling down a flight of stairs.
• His widow is accused of murder but is cleared.
• Rex inherits $25K from Foster; he uses it to pay funeral costs, lawyer fees and give the rest to Foster’s ranch-runnin’, screen-writin’, hard-drinkin’, bathrobe-wearin’ daughter Iris.
• Iris heads to L.A. to write the screenplay for Foster’s manuscript (yeah, sure, those cattle can look after themselves).
• The End.

Sam Driver and Hollywood mogul meet Bea the Buxom Babe with a hammer, and Bubba, local pot grower!

Les and Summer Moore scale the heights of Mt. Kilimanjaro!

Nina continues to have a baby!

An Italian cruise looks a little less than typical for Dawn and Wilbur Weston!

And a simple wildlife shoot gets all too literal for Rusty Trail (as was mentioned on the Comics Curmudgeon, “Where’s a damn grizzly when you need one?!?”)

And yet, a wee bit of tedium sets in…that, or everyone took off for the weekend (the difference between Saturday and Monday strips can be minute):

I like to think of Rex Morgan as a guy who bumbles through life, often the unwitting straight man, and definitely the guy who graduated #81 in his medical school class of eighty.

Then again, a lot of other people think of him as a smug, arrogant S.O.B. (you know, a doctor).  And sometimes, the word balloons just prove them right.  So here we are, still wondering how his old patient Foster died.  Questions were asked, accusations made, dead bodies (well, one dead body) lying all over the place, and no sign of Dr. Andy Reed, aka, COUNT MORGU, Coroner and VAMPIRE!

Yeah, Rex, I guess you are a dick…

Sadly, the topic of the peacock bass as an invasive species somehow got lost along the way (but I liked doing this one!).

Now with More Snark! Thanks, Curminions!

And the Fun That Is Individual Panels Harkening Back to the Glorious Revolution!

…really, I just need some decent snarking material and/or some truly excellent inspiration from the commenters over at The Comics Curmudgeon.  It’s like a tonic! (You know, that “tonic” that Mary Worth keeps behind the china for “medicinal purposes”…)

OMG! OMG! OMG!  Mark’s in danger!  Thanks, [Old Man] Muffaroo!

OMG! OMG! OMG!  The Morgans come to the rescue! (Thanks, Brook Esia, for a definite stashing of panels for the future: “I’m pretty sure panel 3 is really an old Soviet propaganda poster about the bourgeoisie fucking up your day and not giving two shits about it.”)

OMG! OMG! OMG! Bad agent! Bad agent! No martini! Thanks, Dennis Jimenez!

And I smell 25,000 smackaroos!

Funerals are always painful.  Some are more painful than others.

Still, they can be fun…

And here I thought Wilbur Weston was the undisputed champion of the comic strip sandwich!  Well, he still may be…

CC’s Tom the Sailor Man pointed out that Iris’ “spritzing” panel might work for me (or for Dingo — and it would be so cool to hear what Mr. D had to say about it!).  Well, heck, I’m stumped about something funny/rude/obscene to say about it, but the past few days of Rex Morgan M.D. have some lovely, wordless panels, and these types of panels are probably the reason why RMMD is my favorite serial comic, as far as artwork is concerned.

So, I’ve strung a few together and letting you have fun with it.  It’s been over 100 F here in Tucson for the last week, so it’s a good idea to stay indoors and out of the sun anyway…