Nobody Loves Rusty

Nobody Loves Rusty Has Moved!!

2009-08-03T14:27:00.002-06:00

For all of your Mark Trail needs, please visit our new URL -- http://marktrailfails.blogspot.com

Sunday Selections: Whales

2009-08-02T16:41:00.003-06:00

Sunday is the only day of the week that Mark Trail makes any sense. NLR extends our appreciation for this moment of relative clarity by offering the Sunday edition of Mark Trail without any snarky, off-color commentary. August 2's strip features whales.

Mark is New to this Whole Tracking Thing; Excitement Has Yet to Abound

2009-07-31T08:17:00.010-06:00

July 30, 2009

Things were moving along pretty quickly there for a while -- people were getting shot, cars were burning, bad news was being borne horribly -- but the fun times are over. Now the long, repetitive process of closing the case begins.

July 31, 2009

Because three consecutive panels weren't enough, Mark takes another two to explain that Joey Williams has been shot. Great way to wrap up the week, Elrod, thank you very fucking much.

It's been a great first week back at NLR -- thanks to the readership. Please accept this collage of everything Mark said this week (plus an uncomfortable pic of Patty stretched as far as decency will allow) as a token of my appreciation.

Sunday Selections: the Jackrabbit

2009-07-30T07:28:00.004-06:00

Sorry Ain't Gonna Save You From tha Sass, Trick.

2009-07-29T09:45:00.016-06:00

July 29, 2009

Bitch must be tripping if she thinks a couple of "thank yous" and "sorrys" and "the attempt on her brother's life" make for sufficient penance when animals have died in the woodsy journalist's forest. Like an elephant, Mark never forgets.

Unlike an elephant, Mark lacks the cognitive ability needed to reconcile pieces of information into a working theory. Fortunately for him, discretion isn't high on the polluting gamblers' priority list. The nefarious trucking company can be traced by information found on the discarded barrels, as Mark and Joey figured out on this contraction-starved field trip a few days back--

Time is running out on the gamblers and their dumpy ways. With any luck, Mark will find a receipt or something out in the woods. Even more likely, he'll stumble upon Joey's would-be assassin, who's carless and headed toward the freeway with an unconcealable firearm.

Mark Loves Telling People Their Family Members Have Been Shot

2009-07-28T11:49:00.009-06:00

July 25, 2009

Most people would find it difficult to tell a young woman that her brother was shot. Mark describes the shooting to Joey's sister with the exuberance of a five-year-old describing how he fried an insect with a magnifying glass. Think he'll bring it up again in tomorrow's episode?

July 26, 2009

Aboslutely. Mark establishes a successful cross-panel description of the attempted bromicide as an Asian nurse slips a large quantity of unidentified medicine out of the waiting room.

I need to issue a correction of sorts here -- I started this saga in medias res without researching the whole story, and as a result, I got some facts wrong.

Joey Williams doesn't own a transportation company, as I have previously stated. Joey Williams owns a company that needs to dump chemicals. According to the lady with earrings glued to her jaws, gamblers to whom Joey is indebted are somehow involved in the reason why he changed transport companies. I repeat -- the gamblers are involved in a reason. Somehow. I hope that's clear. Sorry for the misunderstanding.

July 28, 2009

Mark is a triple-pleated idiot.

Assassin's Car Trouble Leads to Goofiness, Questionable Decision-Making

2009-07-24T08:25:00.022-06:00

July 22, 2009

Zombie hitman Walter Matthau can't seem to navigate his sedan past an obstacle that, logically, he must have avoided on his way to the assasination attempt. Startled Squrrel can only stare in amazement in Panel 3 as Walter explains what everybody else already knows about ditches.

July 23, 2009

Unable to accelerate out of the ditch, Walter goes to Plan B -- like, really really gun it this time. Plan B fails.

Time is running out for Walter. He's stuck in the middle of the woods, nary a soul to be seen, save that unnaturally curious Squirrel in the tree. He can't stop touching the car even as he complains about the abundance of prints on the vehicle. Unwanted attention must be avoided at all costs. Plan C emerges -- set the car on fire. Unfortunately for everyone, the fire failed to spread to his jacket.

July 24, 2009

Immolation nearly complete, Zombie Matthau sets the final stage of Plan C into motion -- take the gun show to the highway. A nearby tree elects to stay in the woods for a while longer in Panel 1. It's the smartest decision anyone/anything has made in Mark Trail this week.

Hang on, Joey, I Need to Recap

2009-07-21T11:49:00.022-06:00

Again, I've strayed, and again, I'm kind of sorry about it but not really. Mark Trail sucks bunches, and it's hard to stay the course. At this point, I guess i'm only apologizing to myself, so I should probably shutup about it. Onward--

July 21, 2009

Extremely well-shaded critters look on as Mark wills a Jeep Wrangler across the big blue ether toward a hospital. The motive is unclear, but the circumstancial evidence is overwhelming -- Walter Matthau has returned from the grave to shoot Joey Williams, and he's brought a garish tangerine outfit with him. The kind of outfit nobody will notice you wearing as you leave a crime scene.

Clearly NLR is returning to Mark Trail at a seminal moment in the storyline. How did it come to this?

a few weeks ago....

It wasn't always Jeeps and Joyrides for Mark and Joey. Seems Joey's dumping company done been dropping a few unsolicited drums of toxic crude in Lost Forest, and if there's one thing Mark Trail can't stand, it's a chubby, mulletted version of Mark Trail mussing up his home.

In Lost Forest, terrible hair is indicative of a terrible soul -- Joey's coif, like his conscience, walks a fine line. Once the proud owner of a family trucking operation, Joey has put the reputation of his business in dire straits. Man, fuck those tables.

Joey, a victim of his own compulsions, finds himself carrying out run-of-the-mill evil deeds on behalf of a crime syndicate. A crime syndicate headed, apparently, by the moon.

Joey sure knows how to lean into a phone call, doesn't he?

So here we are. The moon has been playing Joey for a sucker, the action literally spilled out into Mark's hood, and now our woodsy hero is about to go all Gran Torino on the moon and the moon's known associates.

Wake Up Patty, Nobody's Trying to Bed the Deer But You -- Recap Time

2009-01-27T20:04:00.020-07:00

1/28/09

Mark's adventures take him to all sorts of naturey places and involve many different types of characters, but they all seem to follow a similar game plan. What we find ourselves mired in right now is a phase of that game not unlike a butterfly's struggle to emerge from the cocoon. Lots of new limbs and floundering, with few signs of progress. Initially, this phase may be interesting and new, but after 3 or 4 weeks, it gets boring, frustrating, makes you want to rip your teeth out, etc. Hopefully, we are nearing the end of this awkward introduction to the Saga of Patty. In that spirit, let's take a quick look back at what's happened so far.

No, Patty's not all right, Cherry. And it's got little to do with that sleeve's love affair with the booby part of her coat. A more devious problem lurks behind those blonde tresses. Something more unnatural and nefarious.

She totally wants to get stag-blasted by that baby man-deer, and her 'little friend' seems intrigued by the prospect. A third player has thrown his heart into the game, however. His name is

KEN

Scowly lumberman Ken is betrothed to Patty and easily the angriest man in Lost Forest. Patty's little deer friend appears to be the frontrunner for the blonde bombshell's affections, but Ken has advantages of his own. For starters, he doesn't shy away from honest discourse about his impotency...

What's more, his hands move quickly enough to disable an opponent without physical contact, offering him plausible deniability for numerous airslap assaults against his wife.

How can he be jealous? Stupid question, Patty. The man is the surliest ventriloquist in the Western Hemisphere...

...he's probably been jealous about matters less triffling than young bucks courting his wife.

So where does Mark fit into this love triangle? Find out in the next installment of "Recap: The beginning of the introduction to the Saga of Patty."

First Rule of Deer Adultery Club -- ALWAYS Hide the Water Dish

2009-01-20T07:25:00.008-07:00

1/20/09

Cherry and Mark don't waste any time laying into Patty's frownie husband, dropping the "isn't very friendly" bomb well before they even step out of her featureless home. With space at a premium in today's rare four-panel installment, we can't get a firm grip on Mark's reaction to Ken's stern unfriendliness. If recent history is any indication, Mark's probably enjoying himself off-screen in Panel Two. He gets quite a kick out of not knowing much about his neighbors...

Meanwhile, the deer is out of the bag at the unknown neighbors' house. This may come as a shock, but irresponsibly angry husband Ken is not a big fan of his wife's pet buck. Will violence come of this? Preliminary swelling in Patty's head region says yes. Stay tuned.

Elrod Continues to Imply Beastiality

2009-01-19T13:18:00.005-07:00

1/19/09

This isn't looking any better as days go by. Unexpected husbands, shooing a reluctant deer named "Bucky" out the backdoor in the nick of time, frowning....Elrod's doing his best to make this look worse than it probably is. I'm sick of making fun of it.

Mark can tell right away by his monosylabic answer that Ken is a horrible human being. Frowny Freddies with a touch of the ginger and a penchant for blue clothing don't sit well with our hero. Cherry is too turned on by Bucky's gaze to say much of anything.

That Guy an Accurate Reflection of How We Feel After Reading Mark Trail

2009-01-19T09:11:00.012-07:00

1/17/09

Don't waste your breath, Mark. Everyone in Lost Forest knows Patty should've picked up a "pervin' all over a feral woodland creature" permit the day she ran into that fawn. Now she's in too deep, and full disclosure to the proper authorities may jeopardize the massive amount of company she's grown accustomed to over the past few months. Company as large as the children she never had. Cherry is obviously intrigued by the prospect of so much company; Mark's reaction is more curious and angular, littered with strange creases on the nose and brow.

Speaking of creased brows, holy crap that guy in the second panel is angrier than anyone I've ever seen. His forehead contains so much rage, the pressure has carved an impossible line into his temple. He frowns horizontally. That's pretty fucking irritated.

So who is this angry ambler? It could be one of those "wildlife people" Patty's worried about. It could also be her lumber-ing husband. Either way, someone's about to get punched.

The Trails Confront Patty the Only Way They Know How: On Horseback

2009-01-16T08:26:00.013-07:00

1/16/09

Mark cuts an impressive figure on that white stallion, doesn't he? Clean jacket n' khaki combination, relentless posture. No wonder Patty, once skiddish and overly apologetic, now feels completely at ease and overly apologetic in his presence, even after he rides a horse into her backyard escorted by the electric-blue Cherry, arm fused to her hip like some kind of irritating, bubble-headed teapot.

Patty's intentions may not be as perverse as Elrod originally suggested. The jury's still out, though. She looks remarkably creepy with that shadowy buck by her side. Even Mark's horse is itching to bounce by panel two.

Patty's Robbing the Cradle! So Scandalous.

2009-01-15T08:20:00.017-07:00

1/15/09

A few days ago, NLR read the fairly obvious tea leaves and concluded that Patty's issues centered around a love affair with some woodland creature. Today's installment confirms the speculation -- Patty is embroiled in a March-December inter-specie sex festival with a captivating young buck.

Elrod opened a door but closed several windows, and now we're left with more questions than ever. Why doesn't Patty talk about her husband? What manner of trouble is on her mind? And what's up with Cherry's imploding waist? Dita Von Teese got nothing on Mizz Trail. Except sex appeal. Intelligence and personality too, I imagine.

It's been a frustrating couple of weeks. The storyline is still opaque, but today's revelation is a step in the right direction. Your patience will be rewarded in due time--things are going to be okay. Just look at the relentless optimism emanating from our hero's face in panel one. Only Mark could take so much pleasure in not knowing something very well.

Meaningless Dialogue Almost too Expansive for the Meaningless Images that Surround It

2009-01-14T08:15:00.007-07:00

1/14/09

What I hate most about Jack Elrod's style is the progression of time within the context of his medium. Let's face it, everyone's actions over the last week are justified. Patty should have left after Mark returned, and Cherry and Mark should seek out Patty after finishing up breakfast. Nobody's being impolite, overbearing, or unreasonable. All I'm wondering is why we have to be present for all of these fucking scraps of minutae. Three small panels at a time.

We didn't need to watch the Trails saddle up the horses for their woodsy ride. Do we need to see Doc holding up plate after plate of breakfast items? Do we need the constant references to Cherry's revolting haircut? We get it -- Mark's hair would look identical if he grew it out. Get a fucking story going here, dammit. I'm running out of things to make fun of.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

2009-01-13T20:28:00.003-07:00

1/13/09

Of the many horrible questions that come to mind, Elrod, one stands above the rest: did you honestly think transitioning from the senseless destruction of a week-long storyline to DOC'S HEAPING PLATE OF DELECTABLE FLAPJACKS would assuage our frustration? If there's one shard of hope to be found among the ruins, it's that the plot couldn't possibly be stretched any further. You can't water down water.

Those half-assed skin-toned highlights may not be real, but Cherry's concern for a friend's secret animal problem is. With any luck, she'll press Patty for answers after breakfast. Those griddlecakes aren't going to last forever. Even if this saga will. God dammit.

This Relentless Blathering Is Not Acceptable

2009-01-12T09:17:00.008-07:00

1/12/09

Quit being such a sleepy-eyed drama queen and spill the beans, Patty. You've already wasted a week of our lives framing your dilemma; now it's time to share. No more tears. No more uninteresting backstory. Do it.

Look at all that fire in the hearth. Do you remember the fire?

Of course you don't. It wasn't there before. That is an unsolicited conflagration, Patty. Even fireplaces are anxious to hear your tale of pathetic woe. So speak your piece and let the khaki avenger figure out the rest. He won't stop punching rednecks until the problem is solved.

Sunday Critterz: American Crocodile

2009-01-12T08:53:00.005-07:00

Patty Craves Forgiveness in Any Form; Mark and Cherry Meld Faces

2009-01-12T07:31:00.006-07:00

1/9/09

As anticipated, Mark's early return has thrown a wrench in Patty's confession plans, and now all she can do is wait for Mark and Cherry to reclaim their respective jawlines and exchange pleasantries with the rest of the family. Mark's face in panel two suggests that he may have walked away with a little more chin than he brought to the hug; it's a problem that will take presidence over all non-face-related issues this morning.

Patty is one mea cupla over the standard apology limit for this situation -- whatever she's done is seriously eating away at her conscience. In no way does that excuse her grating pleas for atonement. I'm just saying, it's bad.

Mark's Unexpected Arrival a Firm Reminder that We Were Never Meant to Understand Patty's Problem

2009-01-09T09:36:00.010-07:00

1/9/09

GOD DAMMIT Mark, we were so close to figuring out Patty's deal. You and your creepy Pubelick had to barge in at the break of day and put the latest storyline on ice for the weekend. It's enough to make someone eat their tissue.

So to hell with small talk -- the time for unreasonable speculation has arrived. Patty mentioned yesterday that she turned to the Trails for help because of their love of animals. The inconsequential nature of her predicament belies an attachment worrisome enough to warrant a pre-dawn trip to the cabin made of poop. If I had to guess, Patty's been casually dating some kind of forest creature and she let her heart get involved. Or she's contracted bear herpes. Prove me wrong, Elrod. For everyone's sake.

Spit it Out, Patty. SPIT. IT. OUT.

2009-01-09T08:29:00.008-07:00

1/8/09

It merited attention before, but now I feel compelled to point out that Mark n' Cherry's Lost Forest abode is preposterously brown. It looks like a giant chocolate monster pooped it out for them. Monochromatic logs can be expected, but matching oven mitts, frying pans, mirrors, model ships, and deer carcai?

Mark and Cherry -- huge fans of the brown.

Cherry's speaking for all of us in the first panel. Patty needs to get a grip and explain the predicament, not the rationale behind her visit to Big Dump Cabin. The line between suspense and poor timing isn't that thin -- a three-part sequence would've been appropriate, but day three of "what the fuck is your problem, Patty" has come and gone and we're still in the dark. Shitty installment all around.

Back to Bed, Doc.

2009-01-07T08:58:00.009-07:00

1/7/09

Looks like it wasn't Mark at the door after all. But who, pray tell, is Patty? I have no idea. She appears timid, apologetic, and helmety. A closer look is in order; let's break it down panel by panel:

Panel 1

PATTY! WHY WOULD YOU GET THE SAME HAIRCUT AS ME?! IT'S SUCH A TERRIBLE HAIRCUTTTTTT

Panel 2

Patty takes off her coat. She apologizes to Cherry for the interuption, but something is on her mind and she needs to dish.

Panel 3

Patty takes off her coat. She apologizes to Doc for the interuption, but something is on her mind and she needs to dish.

Phew! There's nothing about Mark Trail that can't be deciphered by a good ol' panel-by-panel breakdown. Stay tuned.

Recurring Theme at Casa de Trail -- Wood

2009-01-06T11:19:00.008-07:00

1/6/09

You know what the worst part about today's strip is? It probably is Mark pounding on the front door furiously in the wee hours of the morning.

Tomorrow, Cherry will throw the door open and Mark will be standing at the threshold in all of his khaki glory, shit-eating grin etched across his angular mandible. He'll say something like, "Hi Cherry, I'm Mark Trail! I've missed you and love your looks! The water's back in the swamp... that's quite a haircut you've got there!" Cherry will smile and primp in that possessed, I-have-no-eyes manner she's so fond of.

And she'll take her man back to bed, never to gnash her teeth alone again. There's no way it couldn't be Mark. Or couldn't it? No way. Stay tuned...

This Is Some Fucked-Up Shit Right Here

2009-01-05T19:01:00.014-07:00

1/5/09

Primal heat boils over as Cherry puts her new coif on display for the benefit of a sophisticated elder. Outside, owl and rodent lay down the innuendo naturally. The way the old man cradles his pipe in panel three says it all -- Cherry's hairdo is for sure 15% less helmety than it was before. Again. Take a peek for your sexy self:

Mark has women fawning over him constantly and spends a great deal of time on the road; who cares if Cherry indulges in a little action on the side? Fuck, at least his ass isn't on the wrong end of his body.

Oh gosh, hold on now, I remember the problem:

That old dude is Cherry's dad. No wonder Cherry had her eyes sewn shut. The shame must be overwhelming. Worst adaptation of Oedipus Rex ever, Elrod.

Holiday Recap Part 2: The Suggestive Aftermath

2009-01-02T10:44:00.010-07:00

12/31/08

Looks like Mr. Elrod decided to buck the trend and wrap up this adventure by the end of the week. Guess he thought all of the smarmy bloggers would be too preoccupied with New Year's festivities to remember their obligation to smarm. Tough chutney, Jack-o. It's in the spirit of meritless vegeance that I present the second (and final) holiday recap of this flawed tale.

The unsteady pace of the narrative has thrown the aging process completely off-course, and it's taking a toll on Mark's face. Rounded, cherubic features wizen into an angular, pensive mess in but a panel's time. Plus, we learn that rural policemen wear blue cowboy hats.

Our woodsy journalist has got to be happy with the overall outcome of his kidnapping. Not only did he successfully escape his would-be deporters, but Mark even managed to conjure up some completely unfounded drug-smuggling accusations in the process. I looked back through my archives to find any hint of drug-related activity since the Ruffled Crotch Crew worked their way into the storyline. You know what I found?

Mark seems to be the only one lending any credence to his theory, without any hard evidence to back it up. In fact, December 31st is the first time drugs are ever mentioned. Not quite sure why Elrod thinks he can slip that by a devoted reader. There aren't exactly a lot of loose ends to tie up at the end of a Mark Trail adventure.

You know what else I discovered? Sue looks weird when she's patronizing people....

Sue is also a big perv....

Pop masks the shame that comes with be a procrastinating, buggy-mistaking jerkfuck by surrounding himself with rabid animals and soon-to-be-rabid children...

and that's about it.

Mark Outsources His Man-Carrying Responsibilities at Rifle-Point

2008-12-30T08:20:00.005-07:00

12/30/08

Swamp camouflage? "Fellows?" Is that all it takes to thwart a swarthy crew of blue-capped thugs? Guess so. The ginger must have seen this coming. He had today's date tattooed on his neck, for Christ's sake.

Will Mark really tie up this adventure's loose ends in less than a week? Ardent Trail enthusiasts who've suffered through never-ending sagas before may be reluctant to concur. Elrod has a tendency to build the tension very slowly, plow through the climax as quickly as he can, and languish in the denouement for a month. I picked my brain for some sort of real-world analogy that would capture the essence of how annoying this storytelling method truly is, but it doesn't seem necessary at this juncture. Let's see how this plays out.

NLR Holiday Wrap-Up: Mark Kicks a Guy in the Head Really Hard

2008-12-29T08:56:00.016-07:00

12/29/08

Mark has somehow applied the perfect amount of force so as to disable his opponent without fracturing his skull or leaving him otherwise permanently impaired. The dude's shirt isn't even untucked. Judging by that look of twisted pleasure on Mark's face in panel one, however, that won't be the case for much longer. Not after he takes down Beard-o's compadres, anyway. Shit might get pretty weird at that point. Andy seems to approve.

Those henchmen seemed so optimistic last week. What happened? Now that the first major holiday of the season is behind us, a synopsis is in order. Let me take you back:

When we left, Pop had grown hopelessly exhausted from standing next to his swamp tractor and was reduced to leaning awkwardly on Sue. Little has changed in that department...

Fortunately for Sue, Mark stumbled upon this pathetic search party after misidentifying Pop's tractor, a theme that has become all too common in this saga...

Mark sums up his kidnappers' motivations with the spare eloquence and unfounded egotism befitting his profession...

A thug's prayer for a no-surprises encounter with Mark goes unanswered....

And Jack Elrod had no idea where Mark Trail was the entire time.

Pop, Suddenly Aware of his Shortcomings, Resorts to Guilt-Tripping

2008-12-24T11:30:00.012-07:00

12/20/08

Do you remember that grade-school prank about cancer? Someone would casually mention a breakthrough scientific study proving that people whose hands were larger than their faces suffered from a rare type of cancer. When a gullible schoolchum would raise their hand to self-diagnose, bam, the perpetrator shoves the chum's hand deep into their face, and hilarity ensues. Sue would never fall for that prank -- she obviously doesn't have cancer.

All of that standing around by the swamp buggy has left Pop's face saggy and withered. His skull appears to be sloughing off the left side of his head. Undaunted by this turn of events, he opts to spend his last moments in the sentient world passive-aggressively reminding Sue of the lives that her corporate swamplust has destroyed.

Pop Finally Collapses Under the Weight of His Inefficacy

2008-12-23T10:50:00.004-07:00

12/19/08

It's about time Pop's vulnerable side played out in this saga. We should've seen this coming when his pants blended in with his ride and his shirt turned whatever color "invisible" is.

Pity is certainly not in order. His "tractors are swamp buggies/I'll gladly leave my friends unaccounted for in the wilderness overnight" ethos holds less water than his fading swamp. Constant massages are no way for Sue to overcome this unexpected melodrama. Fortunately for Mark, who oddly enough is the only person nearby whose situation merits any consideration at all, rangers may help. It may be best for Sue to finish this rescue mission alone. But that will obviously never happen.

Don't Make that Face at Us, Mark.

2008-12-21T13:34:00.018-07:00

12/18/08

It's hard to tell if that really is Mark revising his escape plan in the first panel. He's got the preference for khakis. He's got that familiar pubic hair dangling off the middle of his head. It's gotta be Mark. It's just a little harder to tell than usual.

"Harder to tell than usual" is a common theme in every panel of this installment. It's hard to tell why dog tracks would indicate that Mark couldn't be too far away. It's even harder to gauge Sue's location or size in the third panel as she massages Pop on his so-so-busted tractor. Above all, it's hardest to tell when Pop will realize that time has erased every spark of physical and mental acuity in his fragile denim body. If I had to take a guess, that moment of clarity will come after he sticks a few more inches of hand into that sputtering engine.

Mark Braces Himself for a StupidSexy Encounter

2008-12-17T12:40:00.015-07:00

12/17/08

Mark takes some time he doesn't have to ponder the obvious, while the number of Trail-hungry henchmen grows by the panel. Do the thugs have the grapes to bring Mark down, or will they let him slip out of their grasp again? Each side has a weakness that the other can exploit as the clock winds down on this convoluted epic.

To start, it's obvious that Mark's ridiculously boring personal narrative has jeopardized his animal alliances. Andy, Sneaky, and that omnipresent stork can only tolerate so much. For whatever reason, the turtles appear immune to the wild self-involved conjecture.

Do yourself a favor, Mark, and SHUT YOUR KHAKI-COVERED ASS UP. You're supposed to be a journalist. Journal it. Shit. I'm so pissed off right now that I won't even mention the prancing.

On the flip side, it's obvious from all of the contrived banter around the shrimp boat that the henchmen will hunt for Mark until the bitter end, unlikely facial hair or not. But the fact remains that if they don't do something about those ruffled crotches, these three are NEVER getting back in the game.

That guy in back might be able to help if his bearded friend would stop ghost-stroking his unruffled junk in the foreground. At this point, it's too soon to tell just how ruffled these crotches are going to get, but nothing would surprise me.

That's Not a Swamp Buggy, Pop. That's a Fucking Tractor. Come on Now.

2008-12-16T09:47:00.016-07:00

12/16/08

I hate to throw out foul language so early in a posting, but Pop is such a lazy-ass syphilitic douchebag weirdo. Mark has been missing for nearly a full day in Trail time, which is like 10 years in reality. What's more, if Pop's creepy daughter is to be believed, Mark's actually related to the man. Now, after urgings from his wife, a dog, and some corporate bigwig that's actually working against Mark's interests, the best effort Pop can muster is some QT with the front-butted lady on a run-down tractor? Next time you want to show off a fancy swamp-related vehicle nobody's ever heard of, old man, make sure it's not a deadringer for the most iconic piece of farm equipment in the history of modern agriculture. God you suck.

It's a good thing Mark's a self-starter. Despite the outlandish international expectations he has for that shrimp boat he was imprisoned on, things seem to be shapping up real well for our woodsy hero. Thug No. 2 has returned to find Mark missing, and he's wasting his time with hurtful words that everybody's going to end up regretting. Sneaky reinlisted in the search at some point and now roams the swamplands with his one-time liberator. Andy is nowhere to be found. And, in the most unlikely twist of all, Mark is showing everyone what it means to run like a pervert. Good luck, bad guys. You're going to need a lot of swamp buggies to catch up with this train.

Sunday Critterz: The Chickadee

2008-12-15T14:53:00.004-07:00

Mark Jumps to Outdated Conclusions About Those Guys on the Boat; Pop Drags a Swamp Buggy Into His Web of Lies

2008-12-15T11:55:00.004-07:00

12/15/08

Mark's exodus continues, with the help of every animal still dwelling in the swamp. He has no discernable reason to believe that those sad sacks on the boat are smuggling anything, but if he doesn't come up with some illegal activity, there's no justification for returning to the boat in Pop's "swamp buggy" to punch their faces. So smuggling it is.

Meanwhile, back at the swamp house, Pop is talking about how he's going to look for Mark with what we have to assume is a dual personality, but Sue's non-exclamatory response says it all -- Pop is soooo full of shit. Strange installment indeed.

Mark's Guard Is Apparently Too Down on Himself to Prevent Mark's Escape

2008-12-15T10:32:00.009-07:00

12/13/08

Andy and Mark return to the tangible world free to leave the shrimp boat at their leisure. The punching we've come to expect at this juncture in the typical Trail storyline sadly won't take place this go round. Fortuantely, Jack Elrod's inability to pin down Andy's true size and shape remains.

Judging by his facial expression and posture, Mark's guard doesn't seem to be as tired as he is profoundly depressed. Hard to say if it's sympathy or Stockholm syndrome, but Mark decides to pass on the beatdown and chalk up the stealth departure to the potential for awful madness.

Looks like there are some problems in this poorly drawn world that even timely uppercuts can't solve. Mark knows this and abides by the logic. Because there are many more problems in this world that are definitely solved by timely uppercuts. And those are the problems he chooses to remember.

Andy Frees Mark, Both Free Themselves From Physical Constraints of Universe

2008-12-12T07:31:00.008-07:00

12/12/08

Andy needs to concentrate extra hard to free Mark from his knots, so Elrod obliges him by transporting the friends to Limbo, where Andy can tug away at those ropes all he wants. Mark can provide clear instructions, stand or sit, and offer screams of encouragement at his leisure. Once those pesky ropes are unbound, I'm sure Elrod will bring them back to the Shrimp boat, where Mark can punch all the bad guys he wants.

Somebody's About to Get Punnnnched.....

2008-12-11T07:21:00.023-07:00

12/11/08

After languishing for days in a boring world dominated by hypothetical saviors and flabby dogs, Jack Elrod wraps up this adventure the only way he knows how -- by insulting our intelligence. No need for a well-layered escape plan here, Andy. Just hop pointlessly over that small box and you're only a few ropes away from leaving Sinister Stork's Super-Sinister Shrimp Boat forever.

Unconcerned about waking his captors', Mark expresses his gratitude with a traditional Elrod-ian scream, the preferred method of communication for any Trail-related encounter. Readers unaccustomed to so many emphatic statements may have trouble relating, but the rules of the game are relatively simple. If you are Mark Trail and you find yourself

A) jumping to dubious conclusions about what little girls are anxious to see

B) diffusing sexual tension by talking like a robot with down syndrome

C) pointing out someone's unlawfulness as you physically assault them

then you have the green light to yell as loudly as you want.

The guards certainly didn't heighten the degree of difficulty for Mark's escape, but in their defense, that Pelican did say he was going to give them their share of the kidnapping money in a couple of hours, not a couple of days. You gotta sleep sometime.

Mark Trail has clearly regained the leverage in this affair. The question now is how will he use it. Expect punching. Lots and lots of punching.

Andy Makes It to the Shrimp Boat

2008-12-10T11:27:00.009-07:00

12/10/08

Exhausted from an all-night pursuit, Andy takes cover behind a tree and some unusual-colored swamp fronds to better assess his friend's state of captivity. Mark is still alive but certainly worse for wear, having aged several years over the last 12 hours ("Forever 32" my ass). His frumpiness levels appear to be off the charts as well. Looks like Andy arrived just in the nick of time. We're all so grateful, there's no point in questioning the shrimp boaters' decision to stop at a dock only dog-wandering distance from their point of origin.

Opportunity has opened a door for Mark but closed a window for Pop, who's down to his last plausible excuse for not searching for his comrade-in-khakis. It seems unlikely that a Type-A'er like Sue (she of the reverse bottom) will procrastinate for any length of time.

Enjoy the moment while you can, Pop. Soon you'll have to leave your random cabin on the edge of a dying swamp and venture 3 or 4 miles by vehicle to the shrimp boat, arriving just in time to see an unbound Mark punch his way to freedom.

Pop's Worry Level Elevated to "Really," Exclamation Points Abound

2008-12-09T08:32:00.018-07:00

12/9/08

It's installments like these that make me wonder if Jack Elrod understands what it means to exhibit genuine concern for his fellow man. Consider Pop's course of action over the last 24 hours (Mark Trail time, which translates into 5-7 days in real time):

Late Afternoon Yesterday

A Noah for our modern times, Mark heads into the rapidly draining swamp to find a way to save its inhabitants. Positive vibrations all around.

30 Seconds Later

The greatest Mark Trail panel ever drawn.

Early Evening

Andy expresses initial concern for Mark's well-being. Pop justifiably writes the anxiety off as Andy being a needy, sensitive jerk and offers encouraging words that will certainly go unheeded.

A couple of hours later

No explanation needed here.

Dinner Time

Mark said he would arrive in time for dinner. Which means that Pop's pre-dinner sojourn to the swamp had less to do with looking for Mark than it did with violating God's law. From behind. On top of Andy.

After Dinner

Mark never showed up to eat, but that didn't stop Pop from enjoying his dinner, as well as a cup of joe afterwards. Pop vows to search for Mark, as well as Andy (who's already taken the initiative to search for his friend), soon.

The next morning

"Soon" has yet to arrive 8 hours later, and now Mark has been unaccounted for overnight. Pop makes the responsible decision to spread the worry around but remains uninclined to actually go out and look for him.

Will Pop actually stick to his word and head out to the swamp? Hard to say. There is lunch to be eaten and staring to do. Other people may call about Mark as well. Who else is going to take that call? His reverse-bottomed daughter? Unlikely. Stay tuned.

Pop Is Rightfully Emasculated, Andy Gets a Fifth Wind

2008-12-08T07:20:00.016-07:00

12/8/08

Pop's mannish wife has good reason to demand that her husband get some help before setting off after Mark -- the initial search-and-rescue effort consisted of little more than a disturbing inter-species doublestack in the swamp.

Pop has been worrying about Mark for four days; he doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to find his woodsy friend. Fortunately for our hero, after days of scent-fondling, Andy has picked up the pace as he hits the odious homestrech. Unfortunately, there is no guarantee that Mark's best friend will be able to keep up the pace. For those of you keeping score --

Scenes of Andy Optimistically Hustling After Mark: 2

Scenes of Andy Lumbering Around Shamefully: 3

Despite the lackluster effort of everyone on Team Trail, the circumstances still work in Mark's favor, due in large part to Salty's uninspired means of escape.

Up next -- Andy Versus the Shrimp Boat.

Sunday Critterz: The Dastardly Lionfish

2008-12-07T13:28:00.006-07:00

December 7's strip examines the impact of the non-native Lionfish on docile Carribean waters.

No Need to Strain Yourself, Andy.

2008-12-06T16:15:00.007-07:00

12/6/2008

Andy has picked up Mark's familar odor of Tag Body Spray and deer urine, but his lope turns into a lurching, sickly crawl in a matter of one panel. This could get really ugly, which is ridiculous, because things around here are ugly enough as is.

Damn, Andy, pick up the pace. Heinous Heron is keeping an eye on you, and he's not impressed. Neither are we.

Andy Only Member of Trio Not to Succumb to the Temptation of Dinner Donuts

2008-12-05T07:27:00.009-07:00

A worried "Pop" confides to his family mid-doff that Mark hasn't returned to their cabin amongst the endless shrubs as promised. The cabinmaster had hoped Mark would return with good news about the proposed development project (or at least a table setting or two), but he won't, and so the family spends another solitary night at the dinner table, eating hand-held foods and looking gassy.

The real story in today's installment is not the failure of Pop but the triumph of the animals. Heinous Heron, fresh off plotting a successful shotgun-whipping of Mark, works the "everything Mark Trail does takes months to accomplish" angle to discourage any extra effort to track his captive down, but Heinous Heron didn't count on one thing -- Andy don't eat donuts for dinner.

Yet again, Mark's life is in the paws of his best friend. What a fucking dork.

Trio in Pursuit of Mark Trail Sort of Unlikely, Definitely Unlikeable

2008-12-04T09:11:00.017-07:00

December 4, 2008

Mark's captors appear to be making a clean getaway in their shrimp boat, but help is on the swampish horizon, and it's carrying on a make-believe conversaton with an emotionally unavailable dog and screaming from the elbow. Does this search party have what it takes to get the job done? Who are these goofballs, anyway?

1) That guy

Defining Characteristics: Uninspired all-blue outfits, impossible hairline.

Impetus for Saving Mark: He is either Mark's father, or just a friend that Mark refers to condescendingly as "Pop." Regarldess, his motives should be called into question -- in a baseball cap, the man is a deadringer for Mark's assailant:

Assailant, alias "Rabbit," offering a mature explanation for why he kidnapped Mark with a shotgun.

That guy, alias "Pop," taking that raccoon from behind.

2) Andy

Defining characteristics: Gets left behind by Mark a lot. Only animal in the Mark Trail universe that can't talk.

Impetus for saving Mark: Nobody sweats Mark's khaki nuts more than Andy. Plus it was only a matter of time before Andy had to save Mark.

3) That raccoon on Andy's back.

Defining characteristics: That rabid animal on Andy's back. Goes by the name "Sneaky." A strange little girl's pet. Probably a huge pussy.

Impetus for saving Mark: Sneaky's been a big fan of the Trailster ever since the old lug took the time to rescue him from involuntarily participating in a twisted game of "Chained Raccoon vs. Pack of Dogs." Now that Mark's been captured by the very same person that captured him, Sneaky's trying to put an end to all of this kidnapping nonsense. What a terrible character.

There you have it. It's three wussy best friends versus three criminal dunderheads. Who will come out victorious? Too early to tell. The only thing we know so far is that we won't. We are so not winning this one.

Crackers tha Perchin' Pelican Will Finally Kill Mark Trail in, I dunno, a Couple of Hours, Probably.

2008-12-03T21:43:00.022-07:00

Nobody Loves Rusty is back. Anyone wondering why I stopped posting can turn to Skymall Product Review for answers. Then you can come back and be like, "wow, those aren't justifiable answers," but by the time you return I'll be gone. On with the saga.

So what exactly is going on here? Salty has an oddly shapped cap and Mark at his disposal, but in what we have to assume is a very predictable turn of events, the anticipation of cold, hard cash begins to eat away at the commarderie of this nefarious foursome. All the better that Crackers tha Perchin' Pelican is more familiar with the stall tactics of the hopelessly indebted than he is with traditional nesting grounds of his species, buying himself a "couple of hours" while he goes to get "half the money" from wherever the fuck it is Pelicans get money. Desperate as the measure seems, Crackers appears to have thought this through. After all, who's going to look for "well known guy" Mark Trail on a Shrimp Boat afloat on a lake in Minnesota?

Moreover, what's the backstory here? A quick glance at last week's action offers up some themes familiar to any follower of Mark's adventures:

Theme 1: Mark carries on a gender-muddled conversation with himself in the presence of others.

Theme 2: Local deviants with negative sideburns and no appreciation for a good woman's lovin' hire on as muscle for corporate ne'er-do-wells at less than scale.

Theme 3: Corporate, reverse-bottomed sexual interest tempts faithful Mark to stray after he teaches her about the importance of the wetlands, despite the fact that he totally had to save her from an Alligator in said wetlands.

Theme 4: Anthropomorphic critter lurks in the background waiting for it's chance to strike, confirming yet again that most-ironic constant in any Mark Trail saga: Mark saves animals for free while animals kill Mark for money.

Stay tuned. Thanks for righting the ship, Matt.

Somebody Is Going to Get Shot in Mark Trail

2007-11-24T22:00:00.000-07:00

Johnny, busy with "heading" his boat back home as if it were some kind of work animal, fails to notice the watchful eye of a myterious cossack rifleman lingering amid the prolific waterfront fauna. Some sort of marsh penguin waits pensively for any signs of action.

Johnny Appreciates Ranger Red's Friendship, Creepy Midnight Escort to the Dock

2007-11-24T20:55:00.000-07:00

The aggressive French Canadian subdued and eager to boat home, Ranger Red returns to his dock beat, grimacing with pride at another job well done. Johnny's ever-shrinking watercraft suggests that the Mark Trail equivalent of Willy Loman is only a few hits in the credit report away from downgrading to a stryofoam cooler and a personal motorized fan. His ever-bloating face in Panel 3 suggests "come and eat with us soon, before I consume every edible morsel in my destitute family's house."

French Canadians Are Essentially Dogs

2007-11-19T18:58:00.000-07:00

Awkward banter aside, Bull's camp successfully swiped Johnny's customers, and it's going to take more than pathetic name-calling to resurrect his naturish enterprise. Ranger Red manages to tame the beast with a calm-but-firm pat on the head, reducing a belligerent camp wrangler to a fist-pounding, soft-eyed creep in Panel 2. A little coffee will be had, yet one can't help but wonder how many panels it will take before this helpful ranger suggests the services of one woodsy journalist to salvage his floundering business.

Johnny Ambiguously Threatens in Front of Authorities

2007-11-19T17:09:00.000-07:00

The hoe-wielding skirmish between Johnny and Bull has finally been broken up by the ranger and his band of cossack sailors. Malotte continues to make threats in spite of a fevered plea from that yellow-shirted guy's knee cap, which doesn't seem to faze the ranger at all. What he has lost in mustache girth, he more than compensates for in eyebrow growth, so perhaps Johnny's threats aren't as empty as they have been over the past two weeks. Mark is still unavailable for poorly worded comment.

Recap Part 3: Scuffling, Followed by Rangers

2007-11-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

Like all swarthy men before him, Johnny's heart is pure, his loins are potent, and his mustache is ferociously uncomfortable. But below that mass of tight, glistening curls lies a firey mind incapable of mercy or composure, one that will stop at nothing until the Malotte name is unsullied, avenged, or the surname of every caucasian on earth.

But Paul's empty-handed return to the camp is doubtlessly the most unswarthy blow to Johnny's sporting camp yet, and the man you see in the panel above is not the man you will see just 10 days later. Witness the disintigration of a gentle mind:

Johnny's concerned, but not enough to touch his face. This is clearly an unsettling gesture.

It's difficult to grasp Johnny's state of mind when his body language suggests so many intense, seemingly unrelated emotions. He's eager to hear Paul's explanation, but it looks as if he's going to run away before the color-coordinated lad can conclude his frayed excuse. Is he losing weight or gaining it? Again, impossible to tell. Paul is still holding the oar for a reason.

Fear begets rage in the Malotte household, and after hearing that pant-sy camp competitor Bull Malone is behind the boat-soaking, Johnny's has no recourse but to head down the only road he's ever known in the unscrupulous world of commercial outdoorsy stuff.

It's going to take more than a frightened, possibly pregnant wife to convince Johnny that Bull's boastful ways don't warrant gunplay. Thankfully, a desire to taste the flesh coaxes Malotte away from his firearm.

Violent ambitions aside, Bull proves to be quite the adversary after Johnny stops talking to himself on the dock. Strangely enough, both pugilists in the Mark Trail universe can sustain more than one hit before conceding defeat, leading to several panels of implausible action.

Only when Bull takes the fight about 30 times too far do the ranger and his rangery cap decide that they've seen just about enough. There won't be any hoes impaling skulls on their watch.

And that's were we stand--two weeks have passed, emotions have been put on physical display, and our eponymous hero is nowhere to be seen. Stay tuned for more gripping episodes of the most enjoyable Mark Trail saga ever.

I Lied, Here's Recap Part Deux

2007-11-10T15:53:00.000-07:00

Paul ponders his failure to procure business for the hunting camp and the impending bite of his father' s best extension cord. Who's to blame for this pant soaking, and why?

Bull Malone, owner/operator of a competiting camp and the sexiest jerk in the woods, caught wind of Johnny's friend-recommending plans and took matters into his large, large coat collar. Clearly fluent in the preferred body language of all Mark Trail characters, Bull assures the pensive businessmen with a hearty tug of his pants that his camp is as better than Malotte's as his pants are deep and wide. Mister Johnson tugs his blazer to signal his approval, and the usurping is complete. The apparantly eldest Mallote son is in for the extension cord lashing of a lifetime.

Fray on, Paul's jacket, but fray carefully, because this recap isn't over yet.

NLR Is Back; Let the Recap Begin

2007-11-10T14:48:00.000-07:00

No excuses, let's just begin and pretend the last 3 months never happened....

The airport birdstrike saga wrapped up as follows:

Buzzard kidnaps Sammy Sam Sam,

Mark punches Buzzard once, defeats Buzzard,

Mark goes to question Leo and Lawson, Leo voluntarily caves,

Everyone goes to jail, Mark grimaces with pride at another closed case,

Mark returns home to Lost Forest, having never written the birdstrike article he set out to write.

This took roughly 30 strips to conclude. After that, somebody's love for a duck prevented totally capitalist developers from building a Mall on fragile wetlands. Mark grimaced with pride and accomplished nothing he set out to do. Yes, this is a trend you're witnessing.

And now the shaky foundations for another Trail saga have been set, the first quivering stones being laid by impossibly mustachioed Trail buddy Johnny Malotte:

By the looks of his ravenous brood, Johnny has obviously been working hard to clear up the misconception that his camp is a place to hunt and fish, not to be hunted and fished. It's going to take all of the children and a coffee cup chock full of badgering optimism to land this friend-recommending deal. Johnny taps Paul's stomach goiter to pick up the clientele.

The goiter's plans take an unexpected turn, however, when a mysterious boat appears from the ether, in one of the surest hurries Paul's young cap has ever seen.

Unable to stray from the prime objective, young Mallotte is reduced to bold-lettered stammering.

Eventually, the bigger, stronger boat overtakes Paul's dinky one-prop vessel, dashing the hopes of a timely arrival at the trading post. Panel three finds the saboteur's boat reflecting loudly on his pilot's intentions.

And that's where the recap begins and the steamy strip-by-strip coverage takes over. Please enjoy. I won't let you go this time, promise.

The End of Repetitive Days, Part 1: Sam Sets Herself Up for the Kidnapping of a Lifetime

2007-08-05T11:38:00.002-06:00

July 20

Mark is pound-him-in-the-butt furious that Sam left to pursue overallphile Buzzard in his one-tone portable birdsprinkle unit, but there's no way Sam could've fumbled around pointlessly with the Trailster in the way. That tinge of excitement you feel in the back of your neck is not unwarranted: at this point, Sam is probably just decades away from being discovered by the redneck she fruitlessly pursues.

July 21

Decades turn to weeks overnight, as Startled Squirrel discovers Sam screaming to herself in panel two. If she was really pining for Mark to arrive before airport-has-most-flights time, it might have behooved her to wait for him, per the plan she concocted all by herself only 2 days before.

July 23

With her corneas unable to bear the onus of her ever-growing eyes, Sam fails to see Buzzard in her line of sight, putting an end to her loud snooping. The "missing dog" is a bad excuse; a more palatable ruse would sounded something like, "Oh, you frightened me...I'm busy hiding my gigantic orange neckerchief from the world with frightful shame."

Stay tuned for the next installment: Enter the Buzzard.

Nobody Loves Rusty Is Back in Action

2007-08-05T11:34:00.000-06:00

So sorry to keep everyone waiting around for the gripping conclusion to birdstrike fuckjob 2007: the Lamest Story Ever Told, but I've been on vacation for the last two weeks, and, to make matters worse, my desktop's power source was destroyed by one of the vagabond electrical outages that plague rural Wyoming. Rest assured that everything is back to normal. Stay tuned for more unexciting but necessary action.

Mark Trail Math

2007-07-19T06:42:00.000-06:00

Or,

7/5/07

plus

7/9/07

plus

7/10/07

minus

Yesterday

times

cubed

equals

today's strip.

If You Can't Get Enough Mark Trail...

2007-07-18T15:18:00.000-06:00

You should probably head over to Darktrail, which is an absolutely hilarious blog. We at NLR love to bring you Mark Trail like it is; Darktrail brings Mark Trail to you like it should be.

Mark Jumps Into Bed, To Conclusions

2007-07-18T12:03:00.000-06:00

Something strange is happening: to Sam's head, Sam's disintegrating man hand, Sam's phone, and Sam's attitude. One would think that after spending several weeks aimlessly meandering through exurban airport frontage roads, eating at physically implausible restaurants, tallying up passes from the wildlife service, screaming, and ignoring suspicious characters in suspicious places, Mark and Sam might take a little time to investigate at least one bird deliveryman that isn't named "Bird." Not everyone hunts insignificant criminals poorly for a living, you know.

Instead, our duo take the first name off of that blank piece of paper on Mark's bed, and visions of NOT GOODNESS pluck the well-worn brainstrings in Sam's masculine head. It is only by the grace of Elrod that the duo's baseless conjectury actually hits the target. Certainly not by the grace of the Cherry Trail gigantaphone 2300 that Sam bought for her bedroom floor, which must be difficult to fit in that diminutive nook where the biologist's pinkie melts into her cheek.

Cherry Trail gigantaphone 2700 (pallid fever edition)

If you haven't already, don't forget to cast a ballot in Sammy Sam Sam Explosionwatch 2007. Details can be found in the upper righthand corner.

Punctuation Update: Period Used in Mark Trail

2007-07-17T09:20:00.000-06:00

Sam is safe (for the moment), and Leo turns the spotlight again to Buzzard and his mouthshuttyness.

Lawson has assuaged his partner's annoyingly repetitive trepidations several times, and the rationale makes sense. Buzzard wouldn't risk jail time to bring his municipal employers down--unless, of course, more money were involved.

Rather than worrying about their bird-sprinkler for hire, the commissioners should turn their attention to that sentient baguette in panel one emerging from the houseplant and making a dash for the exit. If he can get to the authorities before he smolders to death, Lawson and Leo could be looking at a pretty hefty fine for killing that duck, which would mean returning all of that fabulous office equipment they acquired 10 minutes ago. And let's face it, Leo's dislocated wrist is in no condition to move anything right now.

Perhaps they could sell one of their tables to Sam, who desperately needs a bedside perch for her phone. The bioligist is cutting a nice figure, but phone sex has never been less seductive, or more inconvenient.

We catch another whiff of Mark's unbearable fervor in panel three. Jack Elrod would have you believe that the Trailster's been hard at work scrounging up info on local birdsprinklers while Sam was taking a ride on the blame train with the commissioners, but Mark actually picked up those names almost a month ago during a kinky encounter with the Wildlife Service.

June 25

Fortunately for Mark, Sam is about as vacant as her bedroom: very.

Uh, Hey Leo

2007-07-16T08:43:00.000-06:00

Deceit has always been a dish served thinly veiled in Jack Elrod's naturish world. With Lawson's chins hanging precariously off of his embattled face, municipal power bottom Leo materializes out of nowhere to support his beleaguered partner and throw his broken index finger into the fight. Sam tries to play it coy, but her ever-widening eyes betray her fertile suspicions and the piece of corn stuck between her teeth.

While the biologist leaves what we can only assume is Lawson's office with a draw, which is more than anyone could expect from a helmet-haired numskull incapable of grasping the plural and singular modes of formal constructions, her catty ways could end up earning her a date with disaster. Remember, a duck-related car accident is only a phone call to Buzzard away. Only one person with ebony bile in their left eye will leave this contest unscathed.

Emotions Run High, Then Ambiguity Rules the Day

2007-07-14T11:45:00.000-06:00

Saturday, July 15

Lawson doesn't like being corrected, and it's going to take two fingers to cram that point home. Tiring quickly of the airport biologist's roundabout accusations, the commissioner switches gears from pleasant naivete to threatening gestures, marking an absolutely wonderful start to the weekend. Fear looks good on Sam, even if her jawline has sold out to Nike.

The lines between anthropomorphic right and wrong are as unclear as the dialogue bubbles in panel two, where Startled Squirrel tries his ill-shaded best to escape the clutches of Dissociative Identity Fox, whose head and limbs are playing for different teams. Larger Building in Distant Urban Landscape has switched sides for the third time in as many days.

The only sure thing left in this convoluted storyline is vacillation, but when man or beast is forced to choose between a lady unable to decipher the difference between truth-seeking and finger-pointing and an elected official that can't stop calling his municipality's airport the "present" one...

June 16

....there are no correct decisions. There are only insufferable jerks.

Make sure to cast a vote in the Sammy Sammy Sam Explosionwatch 2007 poll. As it stands now, the breasts are the narrow favorite.

Lawson's Soul Is as Black as His Pocketsquare

2007-07-13T08:20:00.000-06:00

Sam is trying her blue-hair hardest to back Lawson into a corner, but it is a vague and ill-defined corner that pretty much anyone in the surrounding metropolitan area could fit into. Her circuitous argument rests on the mind-numbing principle that only those aware of the birdstrike qualify as an acceptable audience to her misgivings of on PURPOSE!! activity.

The watchful eye of Awe-tistic Hawk in panel two has secured Larger Building in Distant Urban Landscape's waffling allegiance to the scheme. The triple-cross has pissed off Sam, who chooses to dismiss LBIDUL's call for evidence in favor of cheekbone-contorting looks of suspicion and a potshot at the lobbying industry. The opening round has come and gone, but it's still too early to tell whose disfigured left eye will overrun with ebony bile first. Both have gotten off to a healthy start.

So will the Airport Biologist's tactics make this birdstriker sing? Advocates of common sense would say no, but the body's language is the most revealing of human patois, and Lawson's inflated chest in panel three is clearly a defensive gesture, no doubt a tactic acquired from his anthropomorphic cohort. If we're lucky, Sam will only have to repeat herself for two or three more weeks before Lawson caves and rats out Tumblz the Optimistic Dysplasial Bunny.

But at what cost, Tumblz?

Sam Is a Quick Sell and Horrible Profile

2007-07-12T08:54:00.000-06:00

Lawson arrives to convince meddlesome Sam that one birdstrike is cause enough for an overhaul of the town's transportation infrastructure. He tries to hammer the point home with sensual desk perching that has become the predominant motif over the course of birdcrush storytime. Ms. Hill's smile in panel three says "go on," but her poorly conceived features say, "you'll want to turn the lights down first." Also, "these buttons don't allow me to remove my shirt." Also, "I remember that birdstrike, I was the one that struck the birds."

Startled Squirrel and his third cousin, Sorta-Startled Squirrel, look on with curious surprise as long-time municipal crony Larger Building in Distant Urban Landscape switches teams late in the game and fires the opening salvo on Sam's behalf. Lawson's bicep appeared to be ready for the double-cross, however, which can only portend doom for the airport. Should future turncoats be unable to betray the operation, there's no way Mark and Sam are capable of thwarting this on their retarded own.

If the commissioners opt to save some of the money earned from the scheme instead of eating it all, they may want to consider a trip to Office Depot. A potted plant and picture frame do not an effective office make.

Mark Trail Recap: Zeno's Paradox, Applied Liberally

2007-07-11T09:04:00.001-06:00

So sorry to be tardy on the Mark Trail updates, but pressing matters have taken up most of my week, and let's face it, there are few matters less pressing than Mark Trail. Let's begin.

Monday, July 9

Jack Elrod begins the week yet again preoccupied with keeping readers up to speed through the empty vessel known as Samantha Sam Sam Sammy Sam Samantherson. Mark and Sam have wrapped up their nearly week-long "yell, respond, and repeat" session with noted flannelphile Airport Manager, who isn't afraid to let his office's left blue curtain do the talking for him.

Rather than use the free moment to track down the perpetrators before they strike again, the duo decides to stop in for a quick bite at the only restaurant in the area that shares their disdain for the physical concepts of time and space. Sam compounds Mark's no-look door-opening gesture with equally awkward close-up dialogue. Panel two sheds light on the true secret of Samantha's irrepressible blue coif: forehead coloring.

Tuesday, June 10

Panel one suggests that Sam's breasts have regained the lead in Sammy Sam Explosion Watch 2007, but panel two sets us straight. Or scares the holy fucking crap out of anyone unfortunate enough to look at it for more than three seconds.

Mark may be right about the bad publicity, but there are probably thousands of ways to better catalyze a multimillion-dollar airport relocation than through birdstrikes. For example, planestrikes.

As we know all too well by now, coffee is usually a precursor for action in Mark Trail, and this time is no different...

Wednesday, July 11

...as Sam and Mark finally take a panel to look at the puzzle they finished piecing together several weeks ago and identify the municipal offenders, whom they ran into at the site of the bird-sprinkling one day before it went down.

(From June 1, for christ's sake.)

Only time--probably a lot of it--will tell if our anti-heroes can thwart the commissionerz n' friendz scheme before another bird suffers at the hands of a recreational pilot. Sam seems to have parked her car in the suddenly maritime restaurant, facilitating a quick exit, so they may be on the right track. Her breasts will call Mark later.

Thanks to Julia for all the great work she did over the weekend.

Airport Manager Dies in His Chair, Body Taken Away in Panel Three

2007-07-07T12:59:00.000-06:00

Have a good weekend.

Mark Trail Can't Handle the Truth, Wet Paint Signs

2007-07-06T14:23:00.000-06:00

In today's gripping strip, Mark attempts to match Airport Manager's Mr. Finch impression with a very mediocre Mr. Cruise, circa 1992. In Elrod's Court, the witness asks all the questions, the judge is a porcelain doll with no eyes, and the lawyer is a fucking fuck-head. Oh, and nothing is ever resolved.

Fortunately, our new friend, Adolescent Moose, has some sense and actually makes two proactive suggestions:
1. Find the people who raise game birds
2. Do so with Sam, not Mark
Good choice, AM. You and Sam can probably get some work done while Denzel ices his wrists.

Mark's New Desk-Perch Restricts Circulation to Wrists, Genitals

2007-07-05T16:33:00.000-06:00

In today's strip, Airport Manager shows us not only a snippet of denim, but a shocking amount of cat-like agility: In just one panel, he cartwheels over his desk into his chair, buttons his blazer, straightens his tie, and crosses his legs just in time to hear Mark's quick response to the question posed in panel one: "I have no idea."

Sam remains quiet as her father and Mark compare belt buckles and repeat one another's comments. Perhaps she's been sniffing an extra-thick Sharpie, the same one she used as eyeliner three days ago.

Giving us his best Gregory Peck in panel three, Airport Manager can hardly believe that someone would want to endanger lives...Bird Lives, that is. And you're right, Atticus, there ARE some politicians who have been pushing the county to buy new airport property. Their names are Leo and Lawson, and they share your office Monday-Wednesday:

Startled Squirrel--Surprised?

2007-07-04T17:26:00.000-06:00

That look of trembling awe in the first panel is not undeserved: Mark and Sam Sam Sam Sam have broken out a ringer late in the game, and its name is Unspecified Background Flora. UBF's efficient wrangling has put a quick end to this full-clothes rectal examination of an investigation, leaving the duo one step closer to the truth.

That would not stop Jack Elrod, however, from only taking the strip a half step closer, to that awkward, unremarkable point in time where Mark and Sam, sweating profusely from the lower armpits and breasts, respectively, burst in on Regional Airport Manager clad in a flannel one-sy. The cornerstone of a profound country was laid on this day 231 years ago, and Mark lets his bicep answer a softball question with boundless, belt-groping enthusiasm.

The eyes are the clear front-runner in Sammy Sam Sam explosionwatch 2007.

Mark and Sam Try to Fornicate, Miss by 40 Feet

2007-07-03T07:35:00.000-06:00

Tired of hovering about the car and shouting at each other, Mark and Sam hit the backroads to locate clues and shout at each other. Sammy Samantha Sam Sam is looking oddly attractive in her mom jeans and magenta, button-challenged long sleeve, which might explain Mark's decision to air-hump the background in the first panel.

With the sexual tension eased by panel two, Mark and Sam actually unearth evidence pertinent to the case, despite Jack Elrod's baffling onomatopoeic device. Sam even makes a keen observation about the absurdity of this debacle in panel three. Something strange is in the air, and I'm not talking about that giant penis in the second panel.

It looks like these two might give the commissioners and their liege, Master Grey, a run for the money. The only thing left to wonder now is which part of Sam will explode first, her breasts or her eyes.

Logic Is Not Mark's Preferred Mistress

2007-07-02T10:28:00.000-06:00

Things do not bode well for our detectively duo in the week's first installment of Airport Birdstrike Mania. Startled Squirrel picked up Mark and Sam's scent--probably reminiscent of Tag body spray and deer urine--and has darted off to inform the commissioners of the fruitless meddling.

The nervous sentinel's reaction seems to be a tad hasty. Sam is more inclined to avoid contractions and needlessly remind Mark of their location than tread 5 feet from the car to canvas the area for evidence. This leaves the deductive reasoning in the hands of her partner, who can do little more than muster the foregone conclusion that anybody releasing dozens of large birds used a truck, leaving local go-kart and airboat enthusiasts in the clear.

Sam's look of intrigue in panel three caps off an unintriguing day of inaction. While she could be pondering why she places so much faith in a dullard with a curly swath of hair taped to his forehead, she's probably mulling over the fate of her own cranium, the crown of which is sliding around precariously like some kind of top-heavy layer cake.

Variations on a Theme: Mark and Sam Wander in Circles

2007-06-30T13:12:00.000-06:00

Mark finally returns to the airport's service roads to flush out the bird-sprinklers with a healthy Sam, who is bursting at the chin for revenge. Full-time followers of this birdstrike chronicle may be experiencing a profound sense of deja vu, and with good reason...

5/28/07

...the episode is nearly identical to this pre-birdstrike strip where Mark drives Sam off a cliff in his boxy car.

The differences between the strips are sullen reminders of the shit that has transpired since that carefree day in late May. Mark has opted for more headroom in his new ride to support Sam's expanded dialogue bubbles and swollen features, and the commissioners' sentry Startled Squirrel has been replaced with disinterested crony Wide-Eyed Weasel. It will be difficult for the duo to take advantage of the substitution, as Mark has dropped a couple of rungs on the evolutionary ladder by panel three.

Shooting Down the Walls of 'Tardache (Bang Bang), Sam Is the Warrior

2007-06-29T11:53:00.001-06:00

The commissioners' may want to push back those money-tasting plans, as the only character capable of dragging Mark out of his sexestential k-hole is back, and if the failure of her buttons to reach her collar is any indication, Sam won't rest (or change shirts) until this mystery is solved.

Whatever Mark was actually "working on"has been intentionally censored by the cartoonist's signature. All Jack Elrod is trying to conceal here is his own ignorance, as he has no idea what type of equipment journalists use in their trade.

Sam's looking good today, but beauty is fleeting in the world of her nebulous aesthetic. Consider this assortment of different looks for the Airport Biologist, categorized by what she ate for breakfast that morning:

BBQ Fritos, somewhat sparingly

Marshmallow paste tucked under her bottom lip like a wad of Copenhagen

Hot cakes. Lots of hot cakes.

Double A batteries.

I hope all five of you out there reading this have a great weekend. Stay tuned for the Week In Review tomorrow.

Master Grey Is (Apparently) Forever

2007-06-28T11:50:00.000-06:00

Master Grey finishes laying the sinister groundwork for the second bird-sprinkling, while Leo and Lawson sit and watch the magic unfold. Another anthropomorphic player, City Goose, has entered the game to remind Buzzard of the need for discretion, proving once again that the Commissioners are just as comfortable keeping birds in their employ as they are with releasing them in heavy air traffic.

There is still a slim chance that Mark will somehow free himself from the man-sexy Wildlife Service and their questionable desk-perching mores in time to quash the airport deal. If he can't, that taxpayer money is as good as eaten, for some reason.

This is roughly the 10,000th time that Buzzard's ability to remain mum has come into question.

Jack Elrod: master of shadow and foreshadow. Think this buzzard's gonna sing?

Look Who's Talking--Lawson's Hair

2007-06-27T13:03:00.000-06:00

All the pieces are starting to come together. It turns out that Lawson's alter-ego hairpiece, Master Gray, has been pulling the strings on Operation Bird-Sprinkle the entire time. Now the commissioners can only watch as Lawson's silvery curls, one arrogant tress away from total chaos, phone Buzzard to sound the death knell for Sam's precious little airport. Buzzard, angered and confused by Master Gray's straight-to-the-nitty-gritty greeting, adds retarded emphasis to an already emphatic statement, tying up another horribly scripted "Mark Trail" conversation.

Everyone continues to shout at one another. Buzzard continues to be labeled "old" by people who look older than him. Jack Elrod continues to be perplexed by the concepts of light and shadow.

Breaking News: Mark Trail Still Sitting on His Khaki Ass

2007-06-26T11:27:00.000-06:00

Proving once again that time is not always a linear construct, Jack Elrod decides to take an unmeasurable step backward (and a little to the side) in the story line.

Wildlife Service Friend No. 2, probably at the behest of his silver-maned life partner Brooding Wildlife Service Master, decides to bring out the A game in panel one and perch seductively on his solid-bronze desk, a slender hand only inches from Mark's gnarled digits. If his cocky grimmace is any indication, Mark likes where this is going.

Panel two finds Mark and WSF2 celebrating what we can only assume is an unnatural tryst with pipin' hot cups of coffee and dialogue completely unconsequential to the matter at hand. I'd like to think that with his libido sated, Mark would continue his birdstrike investigation, but his crossed legs suggest a prolonged visit. A disgustingly prolonged visit.

This is not the first time one of Mark's Wildlife Service "Friends" has courted Mark with a sexy desk perch.

Mark's listening....

Mark Bends Over for Birdstrike Justice

2007-06-25T10:05:00.000-06:00

Mark has finally decided to pay a pouty, homoerotic visit to Wildlife Service Friend No. 2 in his often-delayed-but-never-ending quest to get to the bottom of this imbroglio. The decision was a wise one, as WSF 2 awkwardly agrees to name names in the third panel, entranced by Mark's 1,000-yard squint and spontaneous mullet. That's the kind of commitment to service that earns you the bronze desk and inbox at the Wildlife Service.

If Mark is really the nature boy he claims to be, he'll turn his sights on those sickos who get their rocks off raising game birds after he cleans up this bird-sprinkling mess.

Trail Adventure Recap: Airport Bird Strike Mania

2007-06-24T10:49:00.000-06:00

One of the larger problems in "Mark Trail" is that an adventure which encompasses roughly 1 week in real time will take roughly 8 weeks to resolve itself in Trail time. Fortunately, nothing really happens during these 8-week installments, so it's easy to catch up, if you have the right guide.

Here's what's happened in this adventure so far:

Fresh off of busting a friend's half-hearted/all-retarded insurance fraud scheme, woodsy journalist Mark Trail sets his khak-tastic sights on a hot new story: bird strikes at airports. Judging by her seductive perch in panel three, Cherry seems to be the perfect mate for the Trailster; all it takes to get her going is a little talk about "a friend with the wildlife service" and plans "to visit some airports." What a slut.

A talk with Wildlife Service Friend leads Mark to the office of Local Airport Manager, who credits his airport's reduction in bird strikes to sexy biologist daughter Sam Hill. If the strip above is any indication, this will be the last time Samantha Sammy Samantha Sam Sam's name will ever be mentioned. Alas, panel three will not be the last time anybody's face becomes horribly distorted as the storyline progresses.

Look out, here comes trouble. Municipal trouble.

Co-commissioners Lawson Mills (big blazer-tugging ginger) and Leo Smith (big whiny bitch) are looking to make a little scratch off of some useless land they own by selling it to their municipality as a site for a new airport. This plan is ripe with miscalculations, the first being that no voting district has ever approved construction of a new airport for fear of bird strikes.

Critical miscalculation No. 2: everything else about the plan. In the end, Lawson and Leo forego sprinkling birdseed on the airport in favor of a much more devious arrangement--sprinkling birds on the airport. There are several anthropomorphic players in this wicked game:

Branch-Kicking Skunk and Larger Building in Distant Urban Landscape

Awe-tistic Hawk

Tumblz the Optimistic Dysplasial Bunny

And lastly, Buzzard, the hunting guide with a penchant for fondling what dwells beneath his overalls:

Mark and Sammy Sam Sam Samantha Sam Samerson Sam Sam have a brief encounter with the Commissioners, but they fail to see through Lawson's "I know a problem when I see one, my right arm hasn't grown since the 4th Grade" subterfuge.

Trouble appears to be brewing in mustache paradise, however, as Leo appears visibly distraught at the sight of Lawson caressing Mark's burly shoulder in panel two. If the commissioners' ability to maintain personal relationships is as bad as Jack Elrod's ability to maintain spatial relationships, then life for these two could be getting worse, or just more confusing than it already is.

Speaking of confusion....

Unfortunately for Mark and Sammy Sam Sam, their joyride around in the airport in her plane, "Duck Fucker 4," coincided with Buzzard's bird-sprinkling schedule, and chaos ensued. Fortunately for us, Sam got seriously hurt.

After announcing to the world that he took the controls, Duck Fucker 4 landed itself safely at the airport, and Mark's crotch jump-started the investigation.

That was 11 days ago. Since then, little has happened in the way of investigating. Mark went back to the scene of the duck crushing to gather some evidence and misidentify the gender of the bird Sam killed...

took some "Mark time" in the hotel to talk to Cherry through her gigantic phone...

and twice visited a hilariously bandaged Sam to dry-hump a large plank of wood and provide evasive answers to her questions, all the while staring at her abundant cans.

And that's where we stand. Future synopses will not be as long as this one.

Welcome to "Nobody Loves Rusty!"

2007-06-24T10:28:00.000-06:00

Hey there. I'm not much for introductions, so this will be quick and painless.

After scanning the Web for a few seconds the other day, I was shocked to discover that very little in the way of "Mark Trail" scrutiny exists on today's increasingly scrutinizing Internet.

This makes perfect sense, as "Mark Trail" is a hideously boring comic strip replete with confusing, unrealistic plotlines, and improperly placed dialogue bubbles. Most second graders have a better grasp of the natural world after one science assembly than Trail creator Ed Dodd and his successor Jack Elrod could ever dream of. Yet somehow, the strip has existed in its current form for more than 60 years.

I could ponder the consequences of this callous, half-assed daily homage to nature affects American society's attitude towards our dwindling natural splendor. Instead, I plan on making fun of the strip on a daily basis for my amusement, and hopefully yours as well. Please enjoy.