“Nice to have you home son, even if it could potentially trigger an alcoholic relapse!” Props to Funky for being painfully candid with Cory about his condition (“…when my self-esteem bottoms out”? Lawd!). So ol’ Wade is still around…he was not looking so good when we last saw him at Christmas 2011.
Tag: alcohol
Days of Whine and Roses
So, in paragraph one, Bull outlines Westview’s number one fear: My life will change. Ghastly, ghastly thought! No, no, no, life should be spent forever in one’s high school, in one’s birth town, among the only people you’ve known in your existence! Argh, away with you, change!
Bull then goes on in panel two to detail all the things he hates, wrapping up in the last panel with the fact that people will expect results from him in his new position. Linda thinks it’s just grand that more people will expect better results from Bull–after all, it means a better life for her and who cares if it stresses out Bull? He’s just a dumb jock!
It sure sounds to me like Bull is trying extra hard to talk himself out of taking the job. You can tell this is serious–they’re eating in a restaurant that is obviously not Montoni’s, a restaurant that has some half-seen pictures on the wall instead of inexplicable stains. Seriously, where is this place? Is it in Westview or–gasp–somewhere outside? Yikes! Obviously you’d only dine here if you were expecting some really bad news, or you knew you were going to die shortly.
Look at the poor old man in panel two, squinting to read the menu, hoping that the Act II Les Moore-shaped tumor sprouting from his head won’t kill him before he has a chance to eat something other than pizza. Quick, quick, he thinks. What’s something I’ve always wanted to try but was never able to until this moment of release? Uh…seafood? What’s that? Oh. My. God. My ticket is going to be punched at last!
Justifiable Herbicide
He’s trying for “menacing” here but he’s stuck on “clown shoes” again. Not only do I have no idea what Plantman is jabbering about, but I am at a complete loss to explain why Jessica is STILL not operating her camera, which was ostensibly her entire reason for this ponderous prison visit in the first place.
I, like 100% of the rest of the world, never read “John Darling” so I have absolutely no idea what the back story on “Plantman” is or why he’s dressed up like a plant or why it’s supposed to be funny. I am assuming that “Plantman” was to JD as Larry “Bud” Melman was to Letterman…a comedic stooge used to fill and kill time when necessary. Now I know way more about “JD” than I ever dreamed possible and yet, somehow, I still feel unfulfilled.
So this Mossman guy really did dress up like shrubbery? I don’t get it. Was he some sort of lawn & garden expert or something? Wait…do NOT answer that, I don’t want to learn more.
Great Googly Gazing Galileo (not Finito Binito)
Tuesday’s strip continues with the worst pickup artist. It also drops the actual name of an actual television network. Can the cease-and-desist letter addressed to Medina, OH be far behind?
Today’s affront to continuity supersedes yesterday’s affront to proportion, as the glassware inexplicably changes to a normal size. Either that, or the 60-minute interval of miniaturization effect has expired.
As Cindy’s comma eyes glance sidelong at “Gazing Galileo”—a phrase I’ve never before encountered in any context—I’m grateful that, for a change, Batominc didn’t misspell the name of a historical Italian.
You know what bartenders love? When you wave a payment method at them. In a dead-quiet bar. Maybe next time Cindy should wave a fan of crumpled singles and yell: “Yo! Barkeep!” Because that’s how “savvy dames” behave. Although maybe Batominc categorizes Cindy as hardbitten rather than savvy. It’s not easy for me to crawl into his weird conception of women.
On the plus side, this week’s action has been taking place in a bar. I like bars and what bars are selling.
The Good, the Tiny, and the Sleazy
A new scene abruptly flash-cuts into view, as last week’s Starbuck Jones arc is abandoned once again. A bar, much too nice to be in Westview, and much too soulless to be anything but a hotel bar. I have to hand it to Batominc: he has mastered soullessness. And vast expanses of squiggly lines.
But of course, proportions always go haywire. Witness panel 3, where pint glasses look more like salt & pepper shakers, Cindy nurses a stemware shot glass of wine, and Smirky McSleazy’s old-fashioned glass also seems to have been provisioned by the CMDF.
And the dialogue—oh my!—the dialogue makes me want to invent a time machine so I can go back and dissuade the inventor of narrative fiction. Let’s see if we can make improvements.
First draft
Smirky McSleazy: Nice shoes. Wanna boink?
Second draft
Smirky McSleazy: Are you an interior decorator? Because when you entered the room, it became more beautiful.
Third draft
Smirky McSleazy: Did you bathe in sugar? Because you sure look sweet.
Nope. Going nowhere. I’ll be in the lab, working on that time machine. We’ll be better off without literature.
Son of Stuck Funky 
