The more we see of Cindy, the older and uglier she gets. I wonder why that is? Oh, right….the hackery. Anyhoo, you can practically hear the phony canned laughter behind this trope-laden piece of crap. Old 1980’s sitcoms would have rejected this premise as being too stupid. ABC’s former longtime weekend anchor can’t score herself a hotel room in Cleveland in March? Surely there must be at least one, right? And get a load of Batom, nearly brushing up against something that could possibly be construed as an “adult situation” just like in one of them there Woodsy Allen movies they sometimes have on the cable! Why you can almost feel the cackling…I mean crackling sexual tension as these two rapidly aging former lovers engage in some playful wry banter and…..
Oh, sorry, I had to take a brief break to throw up. What was I saying? Oh yeah, the way he’s already f*cking up her hair from panel to panel…LOL. I can’t believe I’m even saying this but maybe having Cindy rent a mysterious new apartment above Montoni’s would have been a BETTER premise than this one. I mean seriously, Cindy moves in with the Winkerbeans and hilarity ensues…duh. AND another comic book reference too! Maybe Funky should try “common sense” first to see how he likes it, THEN graduate to “spidey sense”. This arc has rapidly turned into one of the biggest debacles of the year, if not the entire decade.
Son of Stuck Funky 
Seriously, what are these two idiots grinning about in the final panel? “Ha ha, your offer of hospitality was a really terrible idea!”
Actually, it would be the ideal situation because Funky spends every waking second at Montoni’s anyway.
Bad. This writing is just bad. People can say all they want about opinions and subtle clues, but no. The only way to actually make any sense of this is to assume that both are so high strung that they’re smiling and laughing at the dumbest things because they’re both about to crack.
And if we thought Cayla and whats-her-name fighting over Les was bad, I admit a depressed Cindy wrestling Hollyblob for the affections of doom-and-gloom Funky would, yesss(!), be most entertaining. The two, uh, ladies would have a battle royale of the smirks in their disdain for Funky and anyone else near with a good old fashioned catfight thrown in for good measure. Bring it on, Bats.
“Gee, thanks Funky. Here I was thinking that nothing could make me feel worse about having to return to this miserable backwater with my tail between my legs, but the prospect of having to accept charity from my fat recovering alcoholic failure of an ex-husband did just that. I’d rather sleep in the Dumpster with the shrapnel from your inedible pizzas.”
You guys know where this is going, right? I mean, I don’t have to spell it out for you, right? You’re all adults, you all know the ways of the world. It might be that the days and weeks ahead of us on this arc might–might veer into “mature” territory usually untouched by the “comics page,” but I think those of us here are ready to handle it. So I shouldn’t have to worry about what’s ahead. I mean, it’s pretty undeniable that this whole arc is heading in one incredibly unavoidable direction, and that the destination is absolutely nowhere.
BC: And it’s the express, so there won’t be any stops before it gets there. The whole thing is just so sub-moronic, even more so than his usual drivel.
I dunno. I kind of think it’s… well….I think it’s kind of sexy.
OK, OK, I get it. The side smirk is his trademark. But would it kill him to leave Cindy’s mouth on the same side of her face from panel to panel?
The more we see of Cindy, the older and uglier she gets. I wonder why that is?
Who cares why? Porky doesn’t care…if she stays over with the Chunkerbeans, he’s banging her either in his dreams or in the pizza joint. Either way, it’s a lot better than his current provisions.
Tom Batiuk steps once more through the magic door on the 7 1/2th floor, into the world in his own head where everybody just says, “Comic books? Comic books. Comic books!”
Batiuk Von Munchausen has struck.
Dear God in heaven…we’re actually going to see the Funky Winkebean version of “Tales of Ribaldry”, aren’t we? Is it too late to gouge my eyes out?
And yet, Funky’s spider sense is still somehow better than newspaper Spiderman’s…
If hotels are truly not a thing in Northern Ohio, I have to say that staying in Cory’s old room at the Funkhouse does not look quite so bad when the alternative is Summer’s old room at the Taj-Moore-Hal.
There is an empty storefront next door – she could sleep there – hell she could buy a house of her own in town. But nooooooooooo – what we have is Three’s Company sitcom as Imagained by Torgo from Manos the hands of fate. I’d gouge my eyes out but I’m late for work.
1/4…inch…from…reality.
Someone should buy Batominc a new ruler. I don’t think ¼” is what he thinks it is.
I know this lookist, but the thought of post-time jump Funky getting funky makes me ill.