Holly’s thousand yard stare into the middle distance is absolutely haunting today. If she actually managed to look at her son, she would realize that he seems to have de-aged about ten years.
It’s also seemed strange at first that Funky has pulled up a wooden chair rather than sit on the couch with his father. But then again, I wouldn’t want to be sitting on anything contiguous with my father’s loins when discussing carnal matters. Also Funky is probably afraid of getting crabs.
Looks like the rest of the week will be this conversation between two doughy-faced doppelgangers barely differentiated by hair color. Yay. My booze budget will be through the roof.