Les’ yellow shirt – Page 16 – Son of Stuck Funky

Breakfast’s Journey Back

You can’t say I didn’t warn you.

You could concentrate on panel one, where Les has off-loaded yet another job to someone else, doubling his contribution of nothing. Barry looks positively Cory-esque (old school Cory) as he plots some kind of photo-related mayhem.

If you choose to go on to panels two and three, you have just saved a lot of money on an emetic. Oh, poor, poor, poor Les, always and everywhere to be reminded of his sad loss–a loss that happened well over eighteen years ago, and, after said eighteen years, he–uh, remarried. Whoops!

A couple days ago I said I wanted to slap Les. Strips like these make me want to bury an axe in his skull.

It also drives home the occasionally floated idea that Les’ marriage to Cayla was simply Tom Batiuk trying to get some awards. There is clearly no affection between the Les and Cayla; they’re together only because Mr. Batiuk wanted to be thought of as “with-it” and “hep.” When that (and the nominations) failed to materialize, Cayla pretty much disappeared as a character. Last time she did anything was getting all flustered at the thought of Mason Jarr the Movie Actor coming for a visit. She usually just stands there and beams at her prize man…while he, of course, only has eyes for Lisa.

The shadow of Les hangs over every moment in Westview. If Tom Batiuk had a month-long story arc in which Les was murdered, I’d cheer. And the strip would improve greatly–not having to play second fiddle to Les, the other characters would finally start to shine in their own light and the strip would become interesting again.

Naturally, that will never happen. Which reminds me….

Remember how I implied, “It gets worse” yesterday? Well guess what–tomorrow, it gets worse.

The Baffled King Composing Hallelujah

Link to today’s strip.

Okay…I’m going to take a wild stab here and guess that the “state of the ark” thing is supposed to be a joke about…Noah? (Oooo, too bad last year’s film wasn’t a huge blockbuster–that would’ve helped, right? Oooo, those year-long waits.) As, I’m guessing again, the prior DJ’s equipment was commonly used in Biblical times–not at all conducive to repainting those funky (oops) seventies vibes. And all those lyrics about cubits! No wonder the Reunion Committee ladies want something more contemporary (it’s a well known fact that, before building the ark, Noah was well known for hosting some serious raves, but that was, like, aeons ago. You can read all about it in your Bibles.)

–Uh…huh. Even I can’t find that premise easy to sustain, and I find it hard to believe anyone, Tom Batiuk included, would write that down and say There. There’s the next strip. Granted, he has given us many, many inexplicable punchlines over the years, but I seem to recall they kind of related to the subject at hand. This one, not so much. Unless the last DJ decided to forgo the turntables in favor of pottery shards, this is rather dim.

One thing, though–the fervor with which poor Barry is assailed makes me think that, yes, the high school does hold a reunion every year–and it’s the only thing going on in these folks’ lives. They just go through their sad days, waiting for the magical date to show up, the reminder of when they were happy and the future was rosy. And all they want is a decent DJ to help the illusion along. And suddenly…I don’t think these reunion enthusiasts are idiots any longer. I find them kind of sad, now, people longing after a happiness they’ll never have, fluttering along like a butterfly at the end of its lifespan, desperate not to die for a while longer.

Have I bummed you out? If so, it’s good practice. I’ve seen tomorrow, and tomorrow isn’t pretty.

Mary Sue, Meet Marty Stu

Link to today’s strip.

I don’t suppose it could be said often, or loudly, enough: THERE’S NO NEED FOR CONTACTS–YOU SEE THESE PEOPLE EVERYDAY.

And, once again, despite all his whining and complaining and moaning about having to be on the reunion committee, someone else has done Les’ job for him. Will that stop the whining, complaining and moaning long enough for Les to offer a simple “Thank you”? Of course not. Les doesn’t thank anyone. Hmph, if anything, they should be thanking him. Here they are, bathing in his presence and all they can do is give him grief for not being a shallow teenager. How he suffers!

By my count, Les has done exactly nothing to help prepare for the reunion. Perhaps that makes him wiser than the others in a real-world sense, but it still makes me want to slap him. Of course, that’s natural to feel anytime Les shows up.

And, with Les “leading” the committee, the Coming Reunion is certain to become a Lesfest. Hey, remember Lesfest ’12? Totally awesome. I got completely blitzed on nachos, man, and they had the widescreen TV wheeled in. Woo-hoo! Good times, man.

The Biggest Prize in Sport

Link to today’s strip.

My God, look at Bull’s face in panel two. That’s the perfect Funky Winkerbean mask of weariness and resignation. Remember what I said the other day, about how Tom Batiuk has lost the ability to tell jokes? This right here is the proof. If Bull was wearing even a slight smile, his remark could be taken as a joke, about…uh…how the girl’s basketball team needs more training? Or they’re larger and stronger than the football players? Or something? Instead Bull has the expression of a man who’s about to walk that last lonley mile. “Any word from the governor?” Young Bob Dylan, tangled up in blue in the lower left, would be wise to quit glowering and listen in; he might get a great song out of this, maybe even a whole album! Maybe something like “Idiot Wind-Bag.”

Lastly, there is a bit of amusement on display as history is about to repeat itself: Les, not paying attention, is going to walk right into that purple-shirted girl who is distracted by her cell phone. KLANG! *OOF* THUD. On his trip into the past, one wonders what Les Moore would tell his younger self. One suspects it would be something like, “Buy that Starbuck Jones comic, kid.” After all, if your mind only has one track….

Bull’s Story

Link to today’s strip.

So, the dreaded Les at last makes his appearance just to rub Bull’s disappointments into his face. This is why this comic strip is nowhere near reality, because in reality, Les would have been murdered long ago…by the entire town. When the cops came, it would be like that scene in Spartacus. “I am Les Moore’s murderer.” “I am Les Moore’s murderer.” “I am Les Moore’s murderer.”

There should be an eighth panel in today’s strip:

It would have shown panel six’s wagging finger snapped off and jammed down Les’ throat. Bull would stand behind, arms folded. “Yeah, Les,” he’d say, smirking. “You know exactly how I feel. You were given massive amounts of money, took two years to do your job, were flown out first class to Hollywood, were wined and dined and fawned over. You whined and moaned the entire time until you managed to kill the production, and you got to keep the money, all because they wanted to make your sacrosanct story into one that people might actually be interested in seeing. I, however, did everything I was supposed to do, and got screwed over by Fate. So, yeah, you sure know exactly how I feel. Now you know how Frodo feels.”

It just seems pointless to remind Tom Batiuk, Author, that Les gleefully killed the production of “Lisa’s Story.” The job of Hollywood Screenwriter was his for the taking and he threw it away because it made him a little fish in a big pond, where he just wasn’t special anymore.

Mr. Batiuk, when you yourself can’t even remember the details of your own work, I feel absolutely no guilt in mocking it.

There’s just something evil about Les in today’s offering. Look at him happy and smirking in panels three and seven (I’m counting the masthead), looking so pleased with himself that he can dig into his old nemesis’ wounds and jerk a little pain out. The fact that he still lives makes this strip far more of a fantasy than Starbuck Jones could ever aspire to achieve.

Of all the characters in this strip, few inspire as much sheer hatred in me as Les Moore. There’s one other who comes close, and you’ll never guess what my Guest Host Superpowers are revealing to me even as we speak!