Ron Jeremy’s Tony [Isabella]’s overacting ought to tip off anyone that the fix was in, but Holly, being Holly, remains oblivious. Dickhead John smirks from the back, having made fools of two of his friends. What a special day for him!
The question here is this–
Will Holly actually pay that quarter, or will she insist on getting the issue for free, because Cory Winkerbean?
The three amigos check in at what looks like the San Diego Marriott Marquis & Marina, already decked out their Comic-Con attire: John’s exchanged his customary black t-shirt with a Batman logo for a black t-shirt with an even bigger Batman logo, Crazy Harry wears a Jedi outfit, and Holly has gotten out the fabric marker to make her own Komix Korner pink t-shirt; all three are sporting their smirkiest smirks.
Forget those first two panels–that smug smirk at the far right is the real Funky Winkerbean pay-dirt. Ol’ Harry Lunaire is about to start lecturatin’ the folks all about the ways of them comical-book hunters.
You can see he is of a mind to speak on the matter; it’s too bad he’s not smoking a pipe so he can thoughtfully puff on it a couple of times before waving it to illustrate his points.
Other than that, I’m somewhat surprised to discover that the Komix Korner is large enough to have two windows. My previous impression is that it was little larger than a shoebox. A shoebox that holds someone’s bug collection. And, lastly, there’s the expression on John’s face in panel three.
That is an absolute masterpiece of sheer, unadulterated boredom. God, are you still here? And still talking, on and on? I am so sorry I asked you anything, John thinks.
And, well, that’s about all I can say. I mean, how long was the last conversation you had with someone who started with, “I just bid on a comic book on eBay”?
I so love how Jessica’s gone from zero to sixty on her “documentary” project…Shrimp Sauce can only stand there looking pathetic, cradling their infant son. “So are we going to get daycare…?” As if they could even afford daycare. What’s even more professional than enlisting an unpaid college intern as your production assistant? Why, schlepping along your months-old baby as your “sound man.” WAAAAAA!!
A new scene abruptly flash-cuts into view, as last week’s Starbuck Jones arc is abandoned once again. A bar, much too nice to be in Westview, and much too soulless to be anything but a hotel bar. I have to hand it to Batominc: he has mastered soullessness. And vast expanses of squiggly lines.
But of course, proportions always go haywire. Witness panel 3, where pint glasses look more like salt & pepper shakers, Cindy nurses a stemware shot glass of wine, and Smirky McSleazy’s old-fashioned glass also seems to have been provisioned by the CMDF.
And the dialogue—oh my!—the dialogue makes me want to invent a time machine so I can go back and dissuade the inventor of narrative fiction. Let’s see if we can make improvements.
Smirky McSleazy: Nice shoes. Wanna boink?
Smirky McSleazy: Are you an interior decorator? Because when you entered the room, it became more beautiful.
Smirky McSleazy: Did you bathe in sugar? Because you sure look sweet.
Nope. Going nowhere. I’ll be in the lab, working on that time machine. We’ll be better off without literature.
Son of Stuck Funky 