Congratulations to Harry and Harriet Dinkle on their fiftieth wedding anniversary! Say, Harry: between your teacher’s pension, the proceeds from your multi-volume autobiography, and the royalties from your compositions, I bet you’re planning a really special surprise for the Mrs. Maybe a cruise, or a trip to Europe, or a…a party at Montoni’s. Yes, Harriet will be surprised, all right: surprised at what a cheap bastard she’s been married to for fifty years.
Category: Son of Stuck Funky
John Philip Snooze-a
I hope you’ve all enjoyed the stellar snark of Epicus Doomus these last two weeks as much as I have! A new mystery guest author sits in starting Monday, July 15! —TFH
Discuss: “Sousa marches sound best when they’re surrounded by a town square.” Well, for starters, it seems rather like the town square is surrounded by the music: it waves through the air like one of those advertising banners that gets towed by a small plane. And I’d wager that Sousa marches sound best when they’re played by, say, the United States Marine Band. When played by an ensemble small enough to fit in a gazebo that’s about the size of my bathroom, they sound, well, okay.
So in his retirement, “Harry seems to be working harder than ever”? Really? Harder then he did when he used to force his students to march in torrential rains? Harder than when he used to personally deliver band turkeys? Since he hung up his band director hat, all we’ve seen Harry doing is lurking around the high school and occasionally schmoozing with his fellow music educators.
Runnin’ With The Drivel
I was going to say that Funky’s blistered, fat and diseased bare feet (ugh) probably wouldn’t do wonders for Montoni’s business, but then I realized there’s nothing much to worry about there. Les is especially punchable there in panel two, if he has a facial expression that ISN’T obnoxious I’d like to see it. Then again, maybe not. Thank God this ponderous little slog is finally, mercifully over because I’ve had all I can take of these two sweaty assholes and their nonsensical babbling. Like I always say, any Les is way, way too much.
Kick This
Wish I could kick both of them, in the head, repeatedly. “I’m fat, I’m slow, I’m aging terribly, I’m dying”…yeah yeah yeah, Funky, we know. Give it a rest already. Every time these two tools jog together it’s the same old story. And look at Les today, with his look of condescending faux-“concern” for his obese pal…what a dick.
Fat, Sweaty and Whiny Is No Way To Go Through Life
Hmmm, in light of yesterday’s strip, is Les talking about Funky participating in the annual Cancer Fun Run or is he questioning whether Funky will have to urinate during the event (not an invalid question given his obviously very poor condition, I might add)? Wouldn’t surprise (or entertain) me either way, I suppose. Totally generic “Les and Funky jog” strip here: Les being annoying (that headband makes him even more unbearable), Funky bitching (although those miniature ankles of his gotta be hurting), gazebo, bench, Lisa’s tragic death, sweat beads…it touches all the bases even as it strikes out looking. Generic as it gets. Have a happy 4th of July, all!
Son of Stuck Funky 
