Lawson's Soul Is as Black as His Pocketsquare

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

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.

Master Grey Is (Apparently) Forever

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

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.