NLR Is Back; Let the Recap Begin

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

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.

Punctuation Update: Period Used in Mark Trail

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

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.

Sam Is a Quick Sell and Horrible Profile

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

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.

Mark and Sam Try to Fornicate, Miss by 40 Feet

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

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

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

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.