The vicious, unrelenting Wedgeman continues to shake Alex down for her mystery pharmaceuticals (while simultaneously judging her) as Owen looks on with dimwitted concern, holding his cell phone in a most suspicious manner. And this time, there’s no Summer Moore to grittily intervene and save the day for the “loser table”. Will Owen sit there cowering or will he stand up for his lady? Will Alex cave and hand over the meds? Will Wedgeman inquire as to what the pills are before he greedily gulps them all down? Will a new hero emerge? Will this shakedown take an entire week to play out? Will anyone even care anymore after today? Stay tuned……
Tag: Owen
Just Say (Oh) No
All day I’ve been wondering what TomBat had in store for us this week and not even for a second did I ever consider the possibility of an Alex arc, much less one that involves (GASP!!!!) drugs. I can’t say that I remember this deviant Anon-O-Goon’s name or if he even has one, but henceforth I will refer to him as George as a sort of tribute to his special “WHAM!” sound efffect. So George saw Alex eating a few pills after lunch and automatically assumed they were recreational drugs, which, in his defense, is a reasonable assumption given where she lives, where she goes to school, who she hangs out with and so on. But in any event, instead of politely inquiring about the possibility of procuring a taste for himself, George angrily threatens Alex, demanding her stash right there and then. The nerve of him! At least offer to trade her one of your cyanide caps (aka Westviewian Prozac), dude.
UPDATE: Is that supposed to be Wedgeman, WHS’ resident bully? I guess it is, my bad. Wasn’t Wedgeman a senior last year, back when he was terrorizing Owen and Cody? Oh well, perhaps that trivia will all be clarified at the funeral after his overdose.
Espèce d’Idiot
Funky Winkerbean is a reality-based comic strip that depicts contemporary issues affecting young adults in a thought-provoking and sensitive manner.
What kind of idiot goes into the business of educating teenagers, then changes careers to write a comic strip about teenagers, when he clearly despises teenagers and doesn’t know any teenagers?
Oh, that kind of idiot.
I’ve always liked Owen—no, wait, let me finish!
Owen, as his creator compels him to behave, is a dimwitted, resentful, and callow boy with hardly any redeeming characteristics. He repels me. He’s a lazy student known to plagiarize from Wikipedia and otherwise cheat. He wears a chullo in summer, for crying out loud!
The thing is, I think the poor guy does all that stupid stuff under duress. In the hands of a more capable author than our favorite auteur, Owen and Cody could be interesting.
The Owen I’ve always liked is one that Batominc will never cause to exist.
So we’re left with the bandos getting drenched in the H₂Os on the fields in front of the mommos and daddos who are stupidos sitting on the bleachos. And so it goes.
About the title: In French, you can call someone a species of idiot. It means that not only are you an idiot, you’re your own special kind of idiot.
Update: Here endeth my stint as your guest snarker. It was a hoot, and I hope you enjoyed it (the snarking, not the comic)! TFH takes on Sunday’s bundle of joy, and will announce our next guest then! Cheers! Wait. I mean gloom!
Spit Take Two
Cody: Emptying your spit valve seems kind of redundant.
That’s not the only redundancy.
Drown in the Water
Sky cracks open, walls falling to the floor
Just as well to keep it, a guessing game in store
You’re with me now, will be again
All other points in between
And the cruel, cruel mornings
Have turned to days of swim or sink
If living right is easy, what goes wrong
You’re causing it to drown
Didn’t want to turn that way
You’re causing it to drown
Doesn’t make a difference now
You’re causing it to drown
—Son Volt, Drown
Owen: I’d sure like to know how this could get any worse!
The Universe: Request granted. It’s worse. Like you didn’t see that coming.
And the sad thing is, now we’ll never get to experience the epic love story of Owen and Cody. Not because they’ve literally drowned in the rain, but because our favorite auteur hasn’t got the literary or artistic chops.
Son of Stuck Funky 