I think Becky has had enough coffee: she’s shaking pretty bad as she pours one for the man she kicked to the curb not too long ago. In case this scenario is not awkward enough, throw in some of TB’s trademark, tin-eared dialogue: “You seem…” “Better?” “Your word.”
Huh? What’s your word? Do I not seem better, now that Buddy the Wonder Dog is in my life, and you’ve finally granted me a couple hours with my midget son? Now that I’m knockin’ boots with a two-armed woman? What’s your word?
“We’re back!” …to wondering why, if Wally was a POW for at least ten years, before returning home nearly 18 months ago, his son appears to be 8 or 9 years old, tops.
It makes sense that TB would have an interest in the rejuvenatory potential of nanites: if anyone’s been affected by “the ravages of aging”, it’s the denizens of this comic strip.
I like how as panel 2 Jim speaks about making things smaller and smaller, his head has grown massive.
Susan finds yet another excuse to “just come by”. I do love Keisha’s expression of unmitigated disgust. She’s the only one in the room who sees this woman as the obsessed, needy, borderline psychotic she is. Mom Cayla just offers a resigned shrug, while Bull gazes longingly at Susan’s rack.
Here’s a link to today’s comic.
Bull’s a real taskmaster, huh? Summer just looks totally wiped after what must have been a good fifteen or twenty minutes on Les’ Barcalounger, swinging her calf while Bull counted to 2 on his fingers. She’ll be “ripped” in no time. More like her chances of a full recovery and of a basketball scholarship are being “ripped” away from her. Les, if you won’t seek professional help for your issues, at least get a pro to work on your daughter’s.
None of it matters, though, because as these panels from this week attest, everything is Just. Effin’. Great:
Son of Stuck Funky 
