Snark It Up, FuzzBall!

Oh, my goodness! I just discovered (thanks to Gold-Digging Nanny from CC) that I’ve never posted Charterstone Fashion Quarterly Whenever, a guide to the sartorial splendors that all of those fabulous Santa Royale fashionistas are wearing! Yes, I know, you’re probably asking yourself, “How did I manage without this knowledge?”. You most likely managed very well.

Nevertheless, I’ll stick ’em up here. Bear in mind that this past Spring and Summer have also given us a bounty: Mary’s daring romper! Mary’s Pablo Cruise concert t-shirt! Toby’s “two hearts as one” pull-over! It might be time to pull together another installment…

More!

MORE!

MORE!

GAH! Great, we have a strip featuring mother(zilla) of the bride(zilla), Elly, and I end up mashing it twice.

Okay, the first is a gimme. (Note the stylish Imperial Green that the hotel liaison is wearing.) The thing with John in drag is an ongoing critique of neighbor Connie slowly but surely morphing into him. Either him, or Grandpa Jim…

This was based on a lot of CCer’s speculations about Asshathony’s mother. The mother who walked out on him when he was in grade school. The woman we’ve never seen. But of course, we only see 30 seconds of the Pattersons’ busy, busy lives, so she’s probably whooping it up with Elly the other 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 30 seconds of the day. And hey, what gives us the right to see her?

The end of the MRSA ‘n’ Mats storyline in Rex Morgan.
The end of Dr. Andy Reed aka, Count Morgu, Medical Examiner.
I can deal with this.
I can.
Really.
All good things have to come to an end, don’t they?

Well, a girl can dream! And retcon! Or precon! Or extrapolate! Just remember…
Stinky Wrestling Mats : MRSA :: Caribbean Cruises : Norwalk Virus

…or perhaps Elly trundling toward the reception buffet in breathless anticipation. I’m really trying to avoid the Foob wedding. Mostly I’m winning.

(Gah! Why why why couldn’t the MRSA Mystery gone into the courtroom, with Max sweating profusely, his wife serving him divorce papers, his kid being more sullen and surly than usual, and Rex looking confused?)

Okay, maybe I’m losing, but sweet Jeebus on a pogo-stick, SIX limousines? Supplied by a used-car salesman? We can only hope that at least four of them look uncomfortably like hearses.

And, oh, all the “girl talk” and chatter that goes on in the bride’s ready room!  How exciting! How girly! How treacly! These are the thing the bride will remember years from now as she studies the lank, greasy kitchen curtains, and her lank, greasy husband…

Or maybe not. Anyway, I loved Mark Trail when I was growing up because it was just like “Wild Kingdom” (well, without Jim Fowler being squeezed to death on a fairly regular basis by an anaconda, all the while being cheered on by Marlin Perkins) — they were about ANIMALS, and I just loved animals!

Of course, the years pass, I discover The Comics Curmudgeon and people of similar humorous bents. Maybe it was Red Greenback’s surreal combining of two Sunday episodes of Mark Trail and Rex Morgan, M.D., or maybe it was DAS speculating how Mark would explain MRSA (I think it involved a talking beaver).

Whatever the inspiration, thanks to those two gentleman: speculating like that can’t be left languishing!

(A side-note, not that you care: my first mashup of Rex Morgan and Mark Trail just happened to be with each other. Go check out “Ducklings? What Ducklings?” to see some hot flannel-on-khaki action!)

That Type-A (personality, not blood-type preference) Andy! Not only does his lab work demonstrate that those grimy wrestling mats were harboring MRSA, but that Justin Mallory’s was selling marijuana to his buddies. Gotta love him!

And the film-noir panel of Andy is just gorgeous…

I’ve been steering clear of the Foobiverse. I don’t like the usual crap and freaking out that is associated with weddings (at least not-real weddings, when everything plays out like a Keystone Kop comedy). FBOFW is no better, and it’s made even worse now with the Creatrix, retconning Asshathony’s sad, sad life (in an effort to make him more lovable to the readership) and finally showing some affection between him and Elizabeth.

Too little, too late.

Oh, and too nauseating, too.

What’s been happening in Mary Worth, you might be thinking? If you’re lucky, you’re not thinking that at all.

Mary and Jeff made up, but rather than make-up sex or even a kiss, they platituded each other to near death at the Bum Boat (hey, I even made Runner-Up on CC’s Comment of the Week because of it! Yay!).

Now she’s platituding it up with Toby over lunch, or something that’s supposed to represent lunch. I’d usually let the slinging of bon mots (or more likely, mediocre mots) slide, particularly when Mary’s involved, but to invoke Shakespeare for such lame lunch chat is inexcusable. If you want to do that, Mary, go whole hog — and take your meddling padawan Toby with you!