Panel 1: New readers of Mark Trail may be unfamiliar with the lobotomized elf-child introduced today. He would be Rusty Trail. Rusty, like the rest of the characters from Lost Forest, is a proto-typical 1950s adolescent with an Alfred E. Newman haircut and a vocabulary to match. While this may have been endearing in 1958, now it’s just sad and, ultimately, deeply annoying. So, if the Jackelrod Sphere is going to treat us to three months of Rusty’s shenanigans, go out now and buy a couple of bottles of cheap liquor. It’s what I’m doing. It’ll dull your senses, stupefy your intellect, and prepare you for the slumgullion of stupidity to which we’re about to be subjected.
And incidentally, Rusty, a picture of Cherry Trail getting tongued by a giant dog and attacked by a baby hyena will not ever, in any context, make a good picture.
Panel 2: Oh yes, I’m sure Mark was very helpful. What with him telling you to “look through this little window” and “push this button,” there’s no doubt, you’ll be the next Ansel Fucking Adams.
Panel 3: Whatever you do, though, don’t leave the Lost Forest compound. If any of your peers were to see you walking around in your green t-shirt and natty blue-polka dot scarf they would beat you to a bloody pulp. It might not be justified, but what self-respecting country boy dresses like that? If you're going to wear that, you need to move to New York City.
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