I really hope the insurance fraud investigator is tailing his ass. Funky trades in his neckbrace for the keys to the generic minivan and drives (at a pretty good clip, judging from the motion lines) down to the junkyard. Can’t wait to see where this is going. Yawn.
This week’s arc has jettisoned any semblance of narrative or drama. Funky gets sassed by his physical therapist. Funky moans to Les. Funky checks the answering machine. I can’t even snark on this…it’s so boring as to fly below the snark radar.
Funky’s strange convalescence continues. Sitting around the house bored? Was he not just last week dashing around Montoni’s, twisting Les’ arm to have his party there? And ordering champagne? Or was that another head-trauma induced dream? The punchline makes no sense either: there’s no need to “gnaw a leg off”; in fact, that would make escaping more difficult.
Following this strip is nearly as grueling as actual physical therapy. Ponderous, man…effin’ ponderous.
The Funkmeister suffers more maltreatment at the hands of those entrusted with his care. To be fair, I wouldn’t know how to answer his second question either. “Break it down a little” for you? Really, what part doesn’t Funky get?
That’s some bedside manner you got there, Mr. Nameless Male Physical Therapist: “Hmmm…must come up with some small talk to break the ice with this fat old douchebag…‘Nice neckbrace’, no, no, that’ll get him mad. ‘Nice t-shirt’? Noooo…wait, I got it…”
“Ahem. Nice water bottle.”
“Ahh, screw you.”
Son of Stuck Funky 