Tag Archives: Son of Stuck Funky

April Come She Will


by | March 31, 2017 · 11:59 pm

Sack-ological Disorder

It’s late, I’m tired, Mason is in fact bi…polar, Cindy cares not a whit. Good for her. Have at it, snarkers.


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Just Another Funky Friday

I wasn’t able to Lewis and Clark today’s strip for ya.


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Saturday, Sept. 20

Today’s strip wasn’t available for preview…


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Just Say (Oh) No

Today’s strip

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.


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The Race is Not to the Fat & Middle-Aged

Today’s strip

I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift,
nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet
riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but
time and chance happeneth to them all.—Ecclesiastes 9:11

We returned, and saw that the race was not to the fat and sweaty, nor
does the colorist know what color to make the cheeks of an overheated
fat guy. Yea, verily, we returned, and—what? The race is already
I told you you’d be incredulous about how this ends.

Time and chance happeneth to them all, but it would have been nice to
see some of the action. Now I know our favorite auteur is all about
telling and not showing, but this is ridiculous. Talk about cutting to
the chase: Batominc cuts past the chase.

Worst of all, Funky didn’t die.

Now let’s do Funky’s biblical scorecard:

Virtue Funky’s score
Swiftness NO
Strength NO
Wisdom NO
Understanding NO
Skill NO
Quick or Dead Quick, but suffering

On Westview’s curve, that’s an A+.


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The Autumn Lard

Today’s strip

The falling lard falls on his buttocks

Like the fall leaves of red and gold

I see your lips, they’re cyanotic

The glass of wine you used to hold

(with apologies to Nat King Cole Jacques Prévert & Johnny Mercer)

What’s this‽ It looks as though Funky Winkerbean has collapsed before the race has even begun, because of course he has.

Les: Is Funky okay?

The Universe: Of course he’s not, you fool! Did you think you could drag his obese, sedentary arse out of that pizza parlor once a month and turn him into an athlete? I’ll kill him and all of you, if it’s the last thing I do! Mwahahahahah!

Not to spoil anything, but you won’t believe how this ends. No, really: you simply won’t find it believable. The verisimilitude is quite literally incredible.

Update 11 October 2013:

Nat Cole? Jacques Prevert!—gleeb


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