Tag Archives: book signing

Sunday June Turd

I’m on the edge of my seat with the rest of y’all wondering what fresh hell Sunday’s comic will provide. Check back at midnight EDT!

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Legends of the Fall

Back in the fall“?!? No, Les, it was Christmastime, for cryin’ out loud, when your non-bio non-stepson took time off from his “work” (oh, please) to hang out with you. And as far as we know, he appeared at the signing only because you were not home at the Taj Moore-hal when Boy Lisa showed up there unexpectedly. “Legs of the book tour” my ass. You wanna talk about legs? Check out Les’ pins in panel one. It’s a wonder they can support the weight of his body plus two tennis rackets!

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Stocking Snuffer

Link To Today’s Atrocity

The joke here is that the Lisa Cancer Trilogy collection is so massive, expansive and all-encompassing it’s way too big to fit properly in this weirdo’s dead wife’s Xmas stocking. Imagine trying to explain this strip to someone unfamiliar with the eccentricities of the Funkyverse…

“Wait, the guy is buying a book about that guy’s dead wife as a Xmas gift for HIS dead wife?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”

Three dudes hanging out at a book signing, just shooting the shit about the dead women in their lives. There’s only one “writer” alive today who’d mine that premise for chuckles. This is possibly the single worst Christmas story ever written and this Anon-O-Widower guy is one of BatHead’s most perverse creations ever. A guy who buys “Lisa’s Story” as a gift for his own dead wife…that’s a f*cking warped and disturbing fantasy scenario to dream up, even by FW standards.

A guy met Les at a “Lisa’s Trilogy” book signing and bought a copy to give to his dead wife as a Christmas present. Everyone smirked. This actually happened. We’re through the snarking glass here, people.

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The Hair-ried Author

Oh no, Les is back in today’s strip. And along with ol’ smirk n’ shirk we get three would-be nominees for This Week In Milford’s pantheon of hair. Let’s see… we’ve got a phone camera operator sporting a Dave Coulier mullet, a proud Lisa book-buyer wearing the Luke Skywalker, and someone so enthralled with the many justifications for John Darling’s murder in Fallen Star that they are morphing into Albert Einstein. Fantastic.

Well, that took my mind off of yet another strip where Les shows contempt for the people who want to give him money for his work, for a few minutes at least.

Thanks, SOSFers, for putting up with me and TB (mostly TB… I hope) for another two weeks. The unenviable task of covering a crazed bald man palming two imaginary grapefruits (and whatever else next week brings) falls to someone significantly more well-known to the average comic strip reader than Phil the Forecaster, our own Comic Book Harriet. Good luck.

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Les Cafards

I’m beginning to suspect TB is taking payola from the chiropractic industry when he submits sideways Batom comic book covers like in today’s strip. Let’s make that money go to waste…

FW11-5-2017

This is one of the wackier Batom covers and, frankly, one of the better ones I think. Such whimsy, however, falls a bit flat when juxtaposed with Les whining about having to actually work to promote his books. Work? Oh the horror!

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One Nation Under A Groove

Les finally remembers his creepy Centerville contemporary in today’s strip, something he lied about just two strips ago.

While this comic would like you to believe that Les’ memory was jogged by this girl’s foolish belief that she was going to meet George Clinton and Co. on a school-arranged trip to Washington DC, let’s be honest here. Les really remembers her because she looked like a proto-Lisa back then.

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Haikreepy

Centerville woman
Still talking in today’s strip
Took a creepy turn

So, what is the deal
Les leaves his writing around
Women pick it up

And just like before
The woman who picked it up
Keeps it for decades

Why was this two arcs
Really, a baffling story
Why even one arc

Still, creepy woman
Has not purchased Lisa book
Holding up the line

But, seriously
She kept a high school essay
I just can’t even

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