Tag Archives: Cayla

Meanwhile, Back At The Dick Cave…

Link to today’s strip

BatNom got me again. Every single time I openly pray for a lengthy FW arc to end, every time I desperately plead for something…ANYTHING…else, he puts the zap on me and delivers a dose of Dick Facey, which always leaves me yearning for more of whatever we just suffered through again. It’s a vicious circle, an endless cycle of tedium. The man certainly has a gift.

Anyhow, the execrable Boy Lisa is on the phone for some ominous reason thus Cayla has to dutifully sleuth about the Dick Cave to ensure she won’t be interrupting The Delicate Genius while he’s penning this year’s paragraph about his dead wife because WE CAN’T HAVE THAT!!!! Why Boy Lisa wants to speak to his bi0-stepfather is beyond me, although that Lisa connection alone gives me plenty of reasons to start “uh-oh”-ing.

Typical Cayla, always on eggshells around Les. It’s kind of telling how she has to trudge outside on another sub-arctic Ohio day to bring the phone to Les, as opposed to Les simply picking up his OWN phone instead. I guess when he retires to “The Genius Works” studio he leaves his phone behind, lest it interferes with whatever weird Lisa-related thing he’s (ewwww) doing in there.

“Honey, if any dear friends or Lisa’s bio-kids call, should I disturb you in your creative sanctuary or leave you alone lest I disrupt the painful creative process?”

“Uh, no, don’t bother me today…I’ve, uh, got some old Lisa tapes I have to, uh, catalog.”

“Oh, OK. But this time could you please close the blinds? Thanks!”


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So today’s strip remains centered on Les’ comments from the bleachers, and the banality can not be broken by Funky’s lame-ass joke. It got me thinking about how much better FW could be with just a few little tweaks. You know, like making it funny again, or dumping that stupid Starbuck Jones crap, or something really simple like getting rid of Les. I really wish T-Bats used social media; it would be awesome if the #LessLes hashtag went viral and gave him a rage-aneurism.

[Edit: Changed link from nj.com to sfgate.com because of problems loading the strip from nj.com]


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cmtWhat have we here?

Country Music Television?
Canine Mammary Tumor?
Congenitally Missing Teeth?
Cervical Motion Tenderness?
Chronic Multiple Tics?

Thanks, Tom, but Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy already has a perfectly good acronym. High five for getting the “C” right, though.

Congratulations to Holly and her Pokemon Go adventure. You can see by the picture she’s caught (left to right) a Jynx, a Weedle, and a Snorlax.


cte-edit[Edit]  As reader Erich noted, someone at Comics Kingdom managed to spot Tom’s goof and take care of it before the strip actually went live. I’m leaving my original post as it stands, though.



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Link to today’s dribble.

jeromeYes, Les, you insufferable, condescending douche. It’s true: All through high school, you were beaten up by someone named Jerome. And since you seem to have forgotten, you were also occasionally protected by someone named Jerome, apologized to by someone named Jerome, helped train for your Kilimanjaro excursion by someone named Jerome, played tennis regularly with someone named Jerome, and let’s not forget how that Jerome asshole provided Summer with extensive and free physical therapy after she blew out her knee playing basketball.

For chrissake, Les and his meatworld counterpart T-Bats have been out of high school for more than thirty five years. You’d think they’d have grown out of making fun of people’s names by now.



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Marathon Pun

So how did Lisa do in the Lisa Legacy Run featured in today’s strip?

She finished dead last.


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If Six Was Nine

Link to today’s strip.

This would have been much better had it been published back in April, but I guess Tom Batiuk figured he couldn’t set a senior trip in the middle of the semester.   I still can’t help wondering if this is a cry for help.

Of course, since we didn’t see anything of the trip, it’s impossible to say what Les means.  Don’t get me wrong, this is Funky Winkerbean so I’m sure he hated every second of it, but his answer to Cayla says absolutely nothing.  Les’ answer could mean that he enjoyed the trip, and is wistful that there are only a few more left; his facial expressions don’t give a single clue.

I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’s called “writing.”


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How Green Doth My Envy Burn For Thee

Link to today’s treacle.

What the hell, Cynthia? It’s already acknowledged that any multicellular lifeform on Earth would bump uglies with you in a heartbeat given half a chance. Why are you so threatened by this unseen nemesis Marianne Winters?

So it seems that this week’s arc is rapidly devolving into another display of Cindy’s insecurities. T-Bats sure does like torturing her. That popular blonde chick in high school must’ve not only shot him down but double-capped him for good measure and he’s been doodling his revenge ever since.

And hey, what are Mason and Dick Facey (heh heh, thanks Epicus) chatting about in the foreground? Let’s listen in…


Filed under Son of Stuck Funky