In today’s strip, 27-year-old high-school juniors Owen and Cody complain about the—fish? Is that wedge-shaped thing fish? Owen says it’s fish, but—I’ve got nothing. Les Jr. Cody disgorges a Bermuda Triangle joke from the 1970s. Heigh-ho.
The good news is, this is a throwaway strip. Tomorrow, things get—oh—never mind that “good news” bit—tomorrow, things get worse, as we embark on a Les/Funky road trip.
Today’s strip wasn’t available for preview, or the heavy drinking demanded by reading this strip has finally rendered me unconscious. Snark, nevertheless, away!
We’re in for another day of Les whining about his class reunion, so here’s today’s strip, or, “In which Facebook flummoxes the English teacher, tending towards his untimely demise,” because Les never met a responsibility that he didn’t flinch from.
Cayla magnanimously offers to “friend” Les. What this says about their relationship, I don’t even want to explore. I mean, what wife puts her husband in the friend zone? Let’s just say it’s been a long time since we saw that exterior view of the Moore residence in the rain, and leave it at that.
They’re not having sex, is what I’m saying.
The good news is that this storyline is being abruptly dropped, as is BanTom’s wont. At press time, I don’t know what Sunday will bring, but Monday will be a flash-cut to 25-year-old high-school juniors Owen & Cody. They will discuss the provenance of lunch.
Then there will be a Les/Funky road trip.
So, you know, abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Today’s strip wasn’t available for preview, so I got to thinking about what I really like about Les Moore. I mean, given yesterday’s strip, would I have gone to his high school party? Actually, probably I would have. We’d have tuned the radio to whatever Ohio station had Dr. Demento on, then I would have left by 9. I didn’t drink in high school, because I was a foolish young boy.
Oh yeah, my topic sentence. Nothing. That’s what I like about Les Moore. I am flummoxed as to why TB chose Les as his author avatar. By all accounts, TB is kind and charming in person. What does he see in Les Moore? What is the origin of his self-loathing? His mother who “really did a number on” him?
Today’s strip was unavailable for preview, so I followed up on my speculation that BanTom’s secret purpose was to list the 9 billion names of Pete Rebimbas, thereby bringing about the eschaton.
I pulled all the Pete-like names out of my list of first names, and combined them with all the last names beginning in R from my list of last names. The results were not as grandiose as for Clarke’s Tibetan lamasery. Pete has about 44 thousand names, 43,638 to be exact.
I’ve posted the names on the internet, but nothing eschatological has happened yet. I was hoping for Cthulhu to descend upon us and reap all the residents of Westview, but again I was disappointed.
Son of Stuck Funky 