Although “Lisa” can’t see him over the phone, the teacher in Les makes him wag a finger for emphasis as he threatens to “report this to…” To whom? Principal Nate? The TSA? The voice on the phone is not dissuaded: “Don’t get on that plane…” To which we say: Get on that plane, Les. Get on that plane.
I’m a little surprised by Les’ reaction to this mysterious call, given how much time we’ve seen him spend with his late wife. But he’s clearly pissed: his eyebrows, which we usually see arrayed in a smug arch, are now furiously working out of sync, and Les’ is baring his bottom teeth. I especially like panel two, where a disbelieving Silhouette Les seems to peer into the earpiece to see who is this really.
Whoa! I had little lines flying out of my head too, when I saw today’s strip. Has the pressure of being a famous author finally driven Les around the bend? Also: white courtesy phone? Lisa doesn’t have his number?
The ol’ “low battery” conversation-ender, eh, Les? I usually go the “kssshhhh! kssshhhh! You’re breaking up kssshhhh!” fake-static route when I’m trying to cut a cell phone call short.
Doesn’t Les know that in the Funkiverse, to note the absence of “any problems” is to bid them appear? It’s called jinxing yourself. The White Courtesy Phone doesn’t need batteries, Les…and it tolls for you.
Seriously. I can’t take it anymore. We get it: people love cancer stories and the men who write them. I went back and counted: this is the seventh strip depicting adoring fans lining up to kiss Les’ literary ass. Seems like there have been a lot more than that. Ponderous, man, effin’ ponderous. Today’s groupie is sporting the “pink with black scribbles” jacket made popular by Ann Apple!
Son of Stuck Funky 
