Mark Trail is still shot in the head, still floating in a small boat out on a stormy sea, and now he’s about to wash up on a deserted beach — deserted, that is, except for a raven-haired woman. The Comics Curmudgeon himself Josh speculates that this is a modern-day retelling of the Odyssey, with our hero marooned on the island of Calypso. Could it be?
I tend to doubt it, as Odysseus was a smart fellow, the guy who suggested the building of the Trojan horse, which ultimately destroyed Troy. What could Mark possibly come up with that might remotely compare?
CC’s Sequitur’s suggestion was a natural (just like pure maple syrup):
And not to be outdone, CC’s Effluvius Erratus gives Mark his Homeric due (d’oh!):
Sing, o muse, of the man of wood and wild,
Oak-fisted and subtle as a bullet to the head,
Who speaks his thoughts for all to hear
And wonder at his phrasing weirdly bold,
Who aftering ravaging Cherry’s well-stacked
Tow’ring pancakes, wandered far and wide,
Bidden by the God of Plots to seek
The secrets of the Cravated Smith, whose
Diamond lures in which secrets wait.
Sing, muse, o sing of Kelly Welly
Brain of jelly, sent by dread god Elrod,
To foil and finagle the Man of Wood…
It is all too, too wonderful!
Cayla and Susan are still battling it out for the lordly man-flesh that is Les Moore.
Honestly, girls: are there no other available men in Funkytown?
Well, at least you might be on the right track.
I think Manley’s doing a fine job as the new illustrator for Judge Parker.
Okay, Margo, THIS time don’t let your beau go to Tibet or Nepal or Hoboken, at least not without you.
On the other hand, you might want to rethink the wisdom of a chaperone. Sure, LuAnn probably needs one, but that’s mostly to help her find her way out of the stall in the ladies’ room.
And a couple of Monday morning observations on the gals:
…so, of course, you KNOW I had to do it!
…I’m sure this would beat it hands down.
On the other hand, doing this little mashup posed an interesting quandary: Were Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins REALLY that suntanned, or are people from New York City REALLY that pale? Verging on vampiric pale?
[A little background: Trey the Architect first because interested in this field when his father built an igloo for him in the backyard, and young Trey “wanted to live in that cold blue space forever. ” Blue Lagoon — blue igloo — Margo’s arms — there’s an uncanny similarity at work here.]
Love finds Margo Magee…at the peril of others.
I LOATHE Kelly Welly. I’ll even follow the misadventures of Rusty the Little Mutant Boy and his Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Puppy Sassy, but throw in a dame who has all the infuriating features of Lucy Ricardo, and I just want to punch her.
Saayyyyyyyy, there’s an idea!
You know, I wouldn’t even mind her so much if she’d admit that she’s a numbskull…
