As their plane wings its way out of Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, Cherry reminds Mark of an adventure that he’d just as soon forget…


As Mark recalls the horrors of being trapped by flowing lava and being forced to cliff-jump into the sea, all the color drains from his face and he suddenly appears gaunt and wan…  While all Cherry remembers is ordering up Mai-tais by the pool and that shirtless, conch-blowing cabana boy


C’mon, Mark, do you really think they’ll let you board the plane in that pink shirt?

Fashion police are everywhere!  You never know!!


But what will be equally surprising is when they try to clear customs and realize that they forgot to get Rusty a Passport!  But, true that they probably couldn’t clear the security line stateside without proof that they were going to be good on the other end…

But certainly we who dwell in the BOLD NORTH (no longer the MIDWEST) can only dream of an expat life where the only threats are Hurricanes and a periodic bout with Tourista

I see that homeschooling is really paying off…

So… it appears that they are going to be hitting up all the tourist traps, even the ones that are ostensibly historical…


And if I wanted to be schooled, I would be focusing on the Sunday installment of Mark Trail, not the dailies…  Yet here we are being instructed on the pre-historic cities, structures and people of Central America…  But with these clues, it looks like they are heading to the Yucatan Peninsula… Cancun?  Cozumel?  Some rustic fishing village where Mark has an old friend that will put them up in hammocks for cheap?

Well isn’t that precious!

A return to all that is good in the world!  White folks going on Spring Break!  And Why aren’t they dressed up?  Why are they still in their work-a-day cabin apparel?  Where’s your suit and tie, Mark?


Mark sounds almost surprised to have stumbled upon their departure gate, and Rusty is agog over the scale of the operation…  Mark and Cherry really need to let that lad out of his cage more often…  But is Rusty being sincere or attempting a joke in the second panel?  Difficult to tell!!  Nevertheless, Mark offers a genuine grin at his naive comment…

Question is now how do they run into Dirty??  Or vice versa?  Sure they are in the same hemisphere now, but still worlds apart… a seismic (literally) shift in the Earth’s plates will bring the Caribbean in contact with Central America?  Only in the Trailverse…

Great Scoop, Campers!

Yesterday we learned that the other Mister Smith has a familiar name…

From Moss Moses:

Manuel Blanco Romasanta is Spain’s first documented serial killer. In 1853 Romasanta admitted to thirteen murders, claiming he was not responsible as he was suffering from a curse that turned him into a wolf. Wikipedia
Born: November 18, 1809, Province of Ourense, Spain
Died: December 14, 1863, Ceuta, Spain

From Bryant, Esq.:

I detect unplumbed depths in our Mr. Allen, based upon his sly reference to the unnatural amidst his detailed depiction of the natural.

Your reference to Dirty, like the pelican (definitely not a heron), having bitten off more than he could chew is even more perspicacious than might be evident. Romasanta, a/k/a the Wolf of Allariz a/k/a the Tallow Man, confessed at his trial to a spot of cannibalism in addition to making candles of the fat of his victims, pleading not guilty because he had been cursed and committed his murders of various salesmen, officers and customers only during his intermittent involuntary transformations into a werewolf.

So now that we know that the other Mr. Smith is either a demon or a time-traveler, or is taking inspiration from the past, the plot both confuses and gels simultaneously…


And as the increasingly bulked-up Dirty “Call me Mr. Smith” Dyer orders another round from the taciturn Semo, along with multiple platters, all charged to yet another unknown character, is he still looking to impress, planning to entertain, or simply gorge himself?

Dirty- What’s with the Sh*t-eating Grin?

Dirty seems so incredibly pleased with himself these days.  No questioning, no remorse over recent events… never mind that he is probably a wanted man after the authorities found King Tut dead in his office…  All bulked up and smiling like he’s got the world by the tail…


All I can say is that the pelican or egret or whatever it is in panel three had better get ready for a long period of awful digestion…  I really don’t think that iguana is going to go down or process very well… a great metaphor for Dirty- probably biting off more than he can chew!

Mr. and Mr. Smith

I guess there’s only one name to use when you aren’t using your real name… Smith!


But for all we know this fellow’s real name might be Smith… one never knows in these circles of intrigue…  And Dirty keeps throwing money around…  other than the contents of the safe, does he have other evil enterprises earning him additional dollars?  Sort of like Virtucon, the front for Dr. Evil?

Dirty the Millennial…

He’s adulting and set on building a squad… starting with an Executive Assistant!  That’s the easiest way to promote oneself… form your own company!  File the LLC and boom! You’re your own boss!  Even if that’s a little Sus


Throwing cash around like he has it to throw around! Lookin’ for a little Respeck!  Plus a Rad and Savage “burner cell phone,” right out of the pages of Breaking Bad!  Gus and others would go through one or two an episode!  Little flip phones that they would snap in half and throw away after finishing a conversation to avoid detection and traceability… the production company probably bought them by the gross…

Other observations… Nipples.  You don’t see them often in the comics, there they are… once you see them, you can’t avert your gaze. Amiright?  Dirty’s and Semo’s physiques.  They are getting more swol by the day.  That grin.  If that isn’t shade, I don’t know what is!  The eyepatch… on fleek!

Finally, in an attempt to appeal to the Millennial Generation, and the vernacular that goes with them, I’m done chillin for now on the Trail, and it’s time to bounce… if you want to know what the heck I’m saying, go here

So what makes Dirty “exclusive?”

What is his supposed pedigree?  Upon the word of a waiter (or, hey, he might be the proprietor…) he gets an invite to Valhalla for the Angry and Disenfranchised Rich?


Just who is this resident?  A former mercenary?  Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner?  Former CIA a la Mitch Rapp?

And why, for the love of Mike, do we have words like discreet?  And its cousin discrete?  Complete Homonyms, or homographs re-ordering two letters at the end, resulting in completely different meanings??  Pity the soul who has to learn English as a second language!  We claim to live by rules and laws, but as with most things in life, we are governed by the exceptions!

And if you are done psychoanalyzing me, you can bring me another…

As we are drawn by intrigue (dare I admit it?) over what is going on here, we are brought closer to the conversation and potentially the inner workings of the Dirty Mind…


Let’s see…  vamos a ver…  Weapons for Dummies (doesn’t exist,) Calvin and Hobbes (pick one, right?) and To Serve Man… which apparently is a cookbook?  So this fellow addressing Dirty isn’t just any service industry lackey, he obviously has multiple useless degrees under his belt and looks for opportunities to… well… “show off” a bit…