Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

I’m not sure about this one.  I had an inkling about two current storylines because of their similar themes sometime while I was in Las Vegas , but I don’t know if this is what I was going for.  I didn’t have PhotoShop available at the time, and yes, IT WAS THE BOOZE, okay?!

I think I’ve come to the conclusion that a “women in prison” plot isn’t really that interesting, and a “nature writer in prison” is ever less so.  *sigh*

Unlike mopey old Stripey-Butt, however, when Mark sees a problem, he acts on it! Go, Mark, GO!

Apparently, there is the occasional time when Mark comes through (sorry, not for you, Rusty):

The past week’s Funky Winkerbean has to do with the high school stigma of not only knowing show tunes, but singing them aloud on school grounds.  I’m not sure where this is going (to hell in a handcart most likely, given the setting), but the singing kid can take some shuddering cold comfort in that a few folks might appreciate his talent:

I didn’t post this before we left for Las Vegas earlier in the week.  It doesn’t matter. The current story-line is still boring as heck, so here’s my intent of nipping it in the bud so that a thrilling new one can begin. Uh-huh.

Yes, Mark Trail, Santa’s little helper!  And here he is to talk about pets at this most festive time of year!

I have better things to do with my life (no! really!) than to play into Lynne Johnstone’s ego — she was a hack in the latter days of FOOB, and how she’s bamboozled herself into getting newspapers to run her reruns without being dead like her mentor Sparky is astonishing.

However, when she stands imperiously in front of her children, chiding them for looking for Christmas presents, one must take notice.  Particularly when The Comics Curmudgeon himself, Josh, refers to her/it/whatever as MENACING PELVIS.

Much hilarity ensues, along with haiku, song mashups, whether or not Elly’s head has been drawn on backwards and speculations as to her personal hygiene.  I’ll go along for the ride, since Dennis has made it so easy:

And since my buddy AeroSquid’s “Garfield Minus Garfield” mash-up from a few months ago suddenly makes sense (albeit this one is hardly menacing, being all dressed up for the holidays):

and pinned under a station wagon.

No, I’m not (necessarily) making fun of poor Rusty, only that his current predicament has him being rather a captive audience for japes made at his expense.

A number of folks over at The Comics Curmudgeon have speculated that Rusty’s been exposed to so much peril in his short life that there might be a whole bunch of Rustys waiting in the wings (or, as was so well put in the old TV series Dinosaurs, “Looks like we’re going to need another Timmy.”).  That might be the case, since what kind of “Doc” is Cherry’s dad, anyway?

And then there’s the dilemma of the Jumble puzzle not making into several publications on 10 December.  Not to worry, though:

Squatters! A bimbo squatter, no less!

Rex wants to take the safe and legal way out.  While it might be a good moral lesson for Sarah, I think he’s been outvoted:

Oh, wait wait wait.  It isn’t a burglar or a squatter after all (sigh):

Aside from some too-clothed breasts, not much has been going on in Judge Parker (that’s not necessarily true — Sam and Co. are trying to figure out who killed the swindler Madoff D’Vito, and it’s a lot of talk talk talk).

Still, the investigation appears to be going pretty well,  given Sam’s look:

On the other hand, it COULD be something else entirely (nudge nudge wink wink):

“It was his only defense!”

I see strange seasonal similarities between the current Mark Trail storyline and a favorite of mine:

[Oh, yeah — “You’ll shoot your eye out.”]

Time passes…

I guess that Red Ryder Double-Action BB gun is lookin’ purdy darned good right about now.