“Right now I’m sitting in the shade of this huge, bizarre-looking plantlike thing that threatens to consume me. How’s everything at home?” Summer, the scamp, attempts to get a rise out of her dad by pretending to be hosting a noisy group of friends. Les, who knows Summer better than anyone, is not fooled for a second.
Les is in mad demand. The Widow Darling has heard of Les’ success and wants him for the “Today” Show. Les’ friends are beside themselves with glee. Susan appears to slip her hand into the back of Les’ skull and work him like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
If it’s any consolation, the Puppies Behind Bars arc should kick in after next week. ‘Til then I’m sure we can look forward to more gritty, true-to-life New York street scenes, and maybe cameos by Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera, drawn so you can’t tell them apart.
We know she’s a reporter because she’s holding a little notepad and pen (judging by the way she’s holding it, that could also be a chopstick ). And Les is ready for his interview: he leans suavely against the counter, the suede patch on the elbow of his professorial jacket absorbing the grease of a thousand pizzas, his eyebrows at perfect 45-degree angles…then Sweet Polly Purebred’s second question stops him dead in his tracks. I can’t figure out what Les means by “How old are you?” Is it only young journalists who ask insipid, pointless questions? Do only people who’ve lived a certain number of years comprehend cancer? Is he…hitting on her?
In the background, Apple Annie pretends to have a cell phone conversation using what is really an eyeglass case…must keep up appearances!
I told you it was a murder plot! For all you snarkers who wondered what became of Cell Phone Girl: there she is in panel one, talking on her cellphone (natch), just waiting for her cue to run Funky’s fat ass into the ditch, this time for good.
And for those of you (suckers) who are still looking for any kind of linear continuity in the Funkiverse: the last time jump was three years ago next week…Funky was (supposed to be) 46 years old. So despite how old Batiuk makes him look, he wouldn’t even be fifty yet (his birthday is ostensibly in late March), let alone “in” his fifties. Oh well, it sets up the “punchline”.
If TB’s going to make us “earn” these “endings”, well dammit, the payoff needs to be a lot more than another one of his tortured puns. Six days of re-hashing Funky’s post-accident trauma to set up this “joke”? Unbelievable.
Son of Stuck Funky 
