Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

For the past three months weeks, the story-arc of 9 Chickweed Lane has bored us to death with dealt with Big Ol’ Gay Seth doing the tango with Argentine Homophobe Fernanda. Very sexy, I think.

Well, it was the first week.

Maybe not so much the second.

Aaaaand, we’re looking for the exits by the third.

Anyway, CC’s queek, source of Cuteness, Kawaii Commando, posted a set of bouncy kitten photos and suggested that they were the lolcat version of the story.  And dang, if he wasn’t right (well, the dialog has been fudged a bit, but most of it does come from the Tango Sleazo story,  The Cartoonist regularly refers to his critics with the “B” word, and I can see Solange doing a much better job of the whole thing)…

(Oh, and I LOVE LOVE LOVE dese kitties!)

…the Dance of Desperation!

No, Fernanda, Seth really is gay. And showing him your lady bits is only going to make him gayer, if that’s possible.

But you can’t blame a girl for trying:

And then there’s the “Desperate times call for desperate measure” strategy:

So you were shot in the head by a diamond smuggler…meh.

Now you’re being held captive by a woman who says the island is held in thrall by drug smugglers…double meh.

I think this whole thing is much more insidious:

You. Do. Not. Cross. June. Morgan.

(Although it’s a boatload of fun, if you do!)

I rarely mash anything with Dick Tracy (probably because I don’t read Dick Tracy on a regular basis).  As the current writer and artist step down into well-earned retirement, it seems some of their creations have “abandoned ship,” so to speak, to other strips.

And it doesn’t stop with Mark Trail!  Over in Santa Royale, Dawn Weston’s mirror (and/or mind) is playing tricks with her…looking in the mirror shows nothing like a vague reflection — I mean, the cartoonist used to at least pretend to render a reasonable reflected image.

Oh, I said “reasonable.”  Dopey me!  Carry on.

A few days ago, there was much confusion and consternation in Santa Royale, as folks wondered what the deuce had happened to Wilbur Weston’s hamburger as he lunched with his lady-friend Iris.  Some thought the meat had gone bad, some thought the “secret sauce” (hell, if the sauce were that shade of green, I’d keep it a secret, too).  I merely thought Wilbur had ordered a burger with guacamole, but that might be a little too “ethnic” for the denizens of Charterstone, unless he and Iris had cautiously ventured into “the Valley,” where Santa Royale’s minorities are contained.

But then, like a bolt from the blue, the mystery was solved!

…at least fixate on June! ROOOWWWWR!

The Morgans’ office manager has won the $6 million lottery, and her stupid-ass brother Dexter is trying to spend his share in five days or less.  Of course this means blabbing it around and causing every slime-creature to crawl out of the woodwork, including this guy, who offered Dex a share in a NUDIE BAR! All right! (Yes, “nudie bar” was actually mentioned verbatim in a strip!)

Berna returns home just in time to turn out the ne’er-do-well, but the funny thing about ne’er-do-wells is their knack to capitalize on anything:

A family reunited!  Sure, the uber-villain Chatu (“The Python”) still has to be dealt with, but let’s take a few moments and revel in the dysfunction that is the Walker Clan:

Heloise looks like more and more of a contender in the “Phantom XXVI” race.

Yeah, Dennis, it’s downhill from birth…

WHO is this mysterious woman?
WHY is she so intent on hiding Mark whereabouts?
WHEN will the Coast Guard decide to look for Mark again?
WHERE is this taking place?
WHAT the deuce is going on?

and

HOW do I make random words stop bolding?!

Tie-in time!

(Anyway, Mark Trail goes back far enough (and apparently is stuck in the late 50s/early 60s) that “Mark Trail vs. The Commie Threat” should’ve been a major story.)