Tag Archives: Montoni’s T shirt

Why don’t you go out and catch him?

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We’re only on our second day with Isaac the Robot Manservant, and Funky is already tired of the tin can. Look at his poor face in panel two. He was briefly excited at the idea of conversing with a sentient android of unknown origin. But the robot is just another smarmy asshole. Like everyone else in Westview.

Which is too bad, because robots make the best smarmy assholes. Marvin, Bender, HK-47, L-Ron, Lore. The only robot type more popular has to be the wide-eyed innocent Johnny Five type. Unfortunately for Isaac he apparated in the universe of insufferable twits, where his personality is only so much white noise and static.

Thank you to everyone who pointed out yesterday that our metallic mirage is supposed to be a Starbuck Jones side character who was shown on several of Batiuk’s prized commissioned comic covers he loudly auctioned off for roughly the price of a used car. I guess it explains why Funky would hallucinate him. The bulbed-headed desk lamp is probably rattling around in his subconscious from seeing him on the covers of comics when Holly was collecting.

Horrifying covers like this one.

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Senseless Sisyphean Soliloquy.

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Comic Book Harriet here; stretching out her snarking muscles to warm up for this marathon of nonsense.

A long long time ago, when the world was young and Bush was president, I decided to join the Cross Country team. I wouldn’t call what I did on that team ‘running’, because that is an gross insult to the vital skill set that allowed our ancestors to chase down game and flee sabertooth tigers. If we are being extremely generous, we could call my half-hearted efforts ‘jogging’. Just like you could be generous and call the multicolored scribbles of a toddler ‘art’.

As my oxygen deprived brain would send gasping signals to my leaden legs to shuffle forward in a jerky shamble, my entire torso was consumed in the effort of sucking in air and huffing it out like I had swallowed a miniature iron lung.

Sometimes, when one of the more naturally athletic teammates would approach from behind to lap me, (again), they would attempt to engage me in conversation; but a few painfully wheezed one word replies were all I could ever manage.

Never in a million years would I have taken the effort and energy and oxygen to laboriously explain to myself, on an empty track, self-evident and pointless facts OUT LOUD.

Thought bubbles, Tom. They’re a thing.

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Weight Grifting

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Sigh. Nothing like two days of gags about the pin on a weightlifting machine. Killing time in an arc that itself exists to kill time…the Batiukian Paradox. Thank God it’s Saturday.

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Pin Pull Wizard

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These “Funky at the gym” arcs don’t really give you a lot of material to work with. Another bland gag from a bland character in a bland setting in a bland comic strip. Of course it could be worse, but that’s all relative. At least it’s kind of a joke, so there is that. In fact in December you could go back and review 2020 and pick out the ten “best” individual strips and this one would probably make the cut, which is not an endorsement. Actually it’s downright depressing.

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