Link To Today’s Thing
Or you could return the Lisa’s Legacy money you stole, Corporal. The town is in an advanced state of urban squalor, the high school is barely funded, obese middle-aged people are everywhere…isn’t there ANY other worthwhile cause in that hell-hole? Might I suggest the “Paying For Funky’s Funeral Fund?” or maybe a little something for Cayla after all of Akron attacks and bludgeons that smirking jerk with the annoying headband? Lisa’s legacy has already left enough scars on the FW landscape: that f*cking cancer book, piles and piles of videotapes and journals, Darin, Summer…she’s done quite enough, thank you very much.
My problem with Cory isn’t that the Army turned him into a lean, fit, exceedingly polite young do-gooder, it’s that they turned him into an impossibly bland lean, fit, exceedingly polite young do-gooder. And it all just suddenly happened overnight too and to this point NO ONE has mentioned it even in passing. The surly, misanthropic, sneering young punk of early Act III came home completely transformed to an astonishing degree and it’s attracted no attention whatsoever. You’d think that somebody would say something, right?
All that time he spent defusing bombs and dodging death over in Afghanistan didn’t do a whole lot for Cory’s cognitive thinking abilities, as he appears to be considering including Funky in some sort of relay race deal, which is a bit like entering an obese donkey in the Kentucky Derby. I liked old Cory better, at least he wasn’t just another predictable Pollyanna do-gooder with a dumb grin on his face 100% of the time. Now though…ugh. If the guy was any more bland he’d be completely invisible.
Click Here If You Dare
Poor, poor Funky. A decade of steady exercise and he’s more decrepit than ever. Whiner too. One wonders why he keeps it up given how it produces no results whatsoever, but in the Funkyverse logic is kind of…uh…”fluid” like that. Like for example how no one has viciously murdered Les yet despite having numerous opportunities to do so. Very unrealistic. Just visit New Jersey and start gallivanting around with that smirk and that headband and see how far you get. He’d be severely beaten ten times before he hit the pavement.
It Can Indeed Get Worse
Sigh. My most dreaded SoSF hosting scenario…a Les & Funky jogging arc. But wait! Two mysterious strangers approach Les and Funky, asking if they can run with them and…oh. Oh, it’s just Cory (yawn) and Rocky (zzzzz). Given that the new and improved Corporal Cory is about as interesting and entertaining as watching a compost heap molder, I’m not expecting much in the way of long-term plot development here or anything. Har.
Not only does he once again maddeningly start another new arc with like fifty other ones still dangling there, he has the f*cking temerity to put Les in that (sorry, no offense but there’s no other proper way to put it) fruity lavender-ish pink headband of his, which only increases my desire to use some sort of special gun to launch a huge railroad spike through his forehead. Wow is that enraging or what? It’s like he’s taunting me, deliberately looking for ways to annoy me even more, which should not be possible according to all existing scientific models.
Link To Today’s Sad Display Of Comic Ineptitude
“Hey, you know how everyone always says “gotta go, my phone’s about to die” when I call them? Well, I thought it’d be very, very funny if Funky thought his wife was dying only to discover it was her PHONE that was about to die. What do you think?”
“Oh man, you’re breaking up, my phone’s about to die, gotta run Tom.”
This would have been pretty hilarious if only he’d swapped out Funky for Les and Holly for Cayla. You know, because of the whole Lisa thing. “Oh no, mamma mia…not again!”. TomBan really seems to genuinely enjoy torturing Funky, even if it’s just for laughs. Like when he was in that crippling car accident, for example. Oh, the zaniness, it was unbridled knee-slapping from the second the EMTs lugged his broken body out of that ravine to the moment he completed his grueling and painful physical therapy. With most of his punching bags you can understand the motive. They bullied Les in high school, they were better looking and cooler than Les in high school, they wouldn’t date Les in high school and so forth. But what did Funky ever do to merit such punishment?
Link To Today’s Demoralizing Developments
Working that goddamned f*cking decoder ring in there was like dropping a cherry-shaped wad of maggots onto a garbage sundae, it’s the kind of sickening overkill BanTom does better than any other sub-mediocre comic strip author in the business. It’s finally official, after five days of absolutely painful dilly-dallying these two horrible old snores are engaged (as are Cindy and Mason…(shudder)) and a more pathetic spectacle I cannot recall.
“Waiting a lifetime”, yeah, sixty years is indeed nearly a “lifetime” but not necessarily in the Funkyverse, where middle-aged men creak, groan and collapse regularly and couples in their nineties eat solid foods and get frisky in restaurants. Still though, it seems kind of incredible that they just completely lost touch for sixty years. No phone calls, no letters, no emails, no Classmates or HotBot or Google searches, just nothing at all until two comic book-obsessed weirdos took it upon themselves to do everything for them.
In fact when you look at them that way you realize that there’s nothing “happy” about these two imbeciles getting back together, as they’re both awful, stupid, lazy people who literally wasted their entire lives for no reason whatsoever aside from sheer sloth. They’re only together now because of outside meddling, completely happenstance impulsive meddling, by the way. What kind of human being wouldn’t be utterly destroyed by the realization that the great lost love of your life who you feebly pined over for sixty freaking years was likewise just sitting there like an idiot wondering and waiting to hear from you while you sat there doing literally nothing? It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard, yet in the Funkyverse it passes for lite, cute and breezy.
Hopefully this is the last of these two until Frankie crashes the big Starbuck Jones-themed double wedding ceremony and forces Marianne to attempt suicide again. You know that when he finally gets around to re-visiting this in August or whatever he’ll spend five full days on the characters talking about that f*cking decoder ring, just to refresh everyone’s decoder ring memory.
Link To Today’s Dismal Experience
I’ll take a stab at decoding Cliff’s “secret message” using nothing but my extensive knowledge of the Funkyverse and nothing more. OK, here goes nothing…
THIS STORY IS GARBAGE AUTHORED BY AN UNIMAGINATIVE AND POSSIBLY DELUSIONAL HACK WITH NO DESIRE TO ENTERTAIN ANYONE BUT HIMSELF AND NO ABILITY TO DO SO EVEN IF HE WANTED TO
That’s what I came up with. I’m estimating it’s at least 125% accurate, more or less. How many times will he go back to THIS well? It was a movie prop, Tom. The guy is ninety f*cking years old, that goddamned f*cking decoder ring isn’t his whole…oh, wait. My bad, I forgot who and what I’m dealing with here. Of course that f*cking stupid decoder ring is Cliff’s whole life, as he’s a woefully one-dimensional and contrived character with all the depth of a pizza box who was conceived by a lazy shameless hack who must have been absent when they covered “plausibility” in vocabulary class. It’s only natural that Cliff’s entire life centers around some moronic old toy. Like they say, write what you know.