Tag Archives: palm trees

In a Funk

Today’s strip was, of course, unavailable for preview.

But please, let us discuss poor Funky. When was the last time Funky had an arc that wasn’t pointless filler? There is hardly a character in EITHER Funkyverse strips that is stagnant as this poor lump.

If the arc is dealing with something bordering serious, Funky is the world’s most passive protagonist, reacting to events outside his control and doing what other people tell him to. Alternatively he serves as the distributor of jobs, food, and apartments to whoever wanders by needing them like some kind of slapshod Greek god rising from a rickety machine to fix ‘conflicts’ in a piss poor drama.

If Funky is going to show any initiative of his own, it is to chase down a pizza box monster.

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All Strung Out on Heroine

If nothing else, today’s strip sheds a little light on why Mason struck out with those guys at Mixmaster: it was their “practice pitch.” Because there are no other ways to rehearse and refine an important presentation that don’t involve humiliating yourself and wasting other people’s time. Mason compounds his folly by daring to smirk at the mention of St. Lisa, and draws a withering rebuke from Les. A cancer superhero?  How dare you, sir! What twisted mind would ever even conceive of such a thing?

 March 4, 2007:

July 1, 2007:

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Diss Master

Again: why is this meeting even taking place? Aaron and Marc, the Clone Brothers, knew that Mason wanted to make “a depressing film about a woman dying of cancer,” yet saw fit to waste their time and their sparkling water in order to tell Les to his face that this project was a no go. This whole sequence harkens back to that time that Les and Susan Smith had to face a bunch of angry Westview parents over Susan’s choice of Wit for the school play:

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The Bro-ducers

The author who last week gave us “Hershey Barr” and “Bubu Zayla” eschews wacky monikers today in favor of plausibly real, Jewish-sounding (!) names, in possibly his most true-to-Hollywood touch to date.

Hitorque
April 26, 2020 at 11:28 pm
Is Masone wearing A FUCKING SALMON COLORED POLO SHIRT TO A BUSINESS MEETING? And why doesn’t Les have a tie on??

Les’s lack of a tie might be his saving grace. His tweet sportcoat and Paulie Walnuts-like gray temples just scream “boomer” to the hip, hoodie clad partners. Mason’s already hurting his chances by dragging mopey Les to these pitch meetings; would it have killed him to give Les some wardrobe tips?

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Barr to Bubu to Jarre

Composer of Wacky Names Tom Batiuk is batting .500 with today’s strip. “Hershey Barr” is a little childish, sounds too much like “Mason Jarre,” and, as a rapper name, could almost be construed as racist (whatever else Batiuk is, he’s not racist). “Bubu Zayla,” after I took a moment to say it out loud and think about it in an “alt-Latina” context, actually made me chuckle, even if the whole vuvuzela thing dates back to the 2010 World Cup. Seems odd that a house with a multi-car garage would be laid out in a manner that requires you to exit the garage after parking in order to get into the house. I also wonder which of the previous owners saw fit to install a tampon vending machine next to the front door.

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In Them High-Rollin’ Hills

School chums Cindy and Les arrive, not at the Jarre’s beach house, but at Mason’s new pied-à-terre in “the ‘Hills’.” I don’t know where TB cribbed his California architecture notes, but all those tubular steel railings and odd-sized windows do give the building a sort of Cali modern feel, even if the doors on their three-car garage suggest a public storage unit.

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Les’ll Wrestle

Wrestling out of my weight class“? Again with the sporto metaphors from 97-pound weakling Les. And again with the “Most Popular Girl in the School” crap. Does anyone who graduated high school before the 21st century recall who was the “most popular” girl in the school–not the class but the entire goddam school? The most popular. Whoever she is, I hope she’s holding up even half as well as Cindy here. And while dwelling upon one’s social status in high school may get old, one never outgrows a taste for flirtatious banter.

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