It must be the beer goggles kickin’ in: teenage Lisa looks sorta cute as she gamely chugs her Iron City draft and Frankie looks on approvingly. Her hair, while still frizzy, bears less resemblance to a poodle cut; she’s been given a chin, and her lab safety eyewear is replaced by stylish frames.
It’s surprising how Tombat is able to draw a teenager relaxing cross-legged on their bed that stiff and unnatural. Anyone hoping Summer was going to take off that hoody at some point is going to be disappointed by today’s strip.
Are these pajamas now? What part of her shapeless build and Pete Rose haircut even remotely suggests this is a girl we’re looking at?
I kind of like the wordless emotions conveyed by the character in today’s strip, but then again, I’ve always liked Charlie Chaplin…
SoSFDavidO here, and I’m not kidding! The good news is, after seven or eight solid hits it kinda stops hurting and just feels numb.
Snarkers, Les in panel 2 is so utterly punchable with his “High Road” attitude in today’s strip after all but turning his dead wife’s cancer story into a damn *musical* that I’m just going to have to cover my eyes like a 12 year old girl watching a horror movie and focus on Lisa’s journal in Summer’s hand, which is growing at such an expodential rate that the good news is it will soon be the size of the room, crushing everyone inside within the next few days.
Ignoring the plot contrivances in today’s strip, such as the idea of someone finding a box while painting (Huh?) or the fact that Lisa had a journal should be well-known to anyone who lives in that household, why is Lisa’s Journal the size of one of those tiny stocking-stuffer address books that we all got at one point in our lives but never used?
Son of Stuck Funky 
