Tag Archives: sweat beads

Mildfire

Link To Today’s Strip

Muscles firing? That’s barely a one alarm blaze right there. More of the same today…Fitness Girl gamely attempts to motivate a fat miserable sweaty Funky as he incessantly complains. It sort of (ahem) wears thin after a while.

Speaking of which, here’s another idea I’m throwing out there gratis…”Lifting Plates Is How I Ended Up Like THIS!!!!”, a paperback collection of every single “Funky exercises” strip ever. Just imagine visiting your favorite bookstore and seeing Funky’s sweaty alarmed mug staring back at you from between the “Family Circus” collections and the random Archie’s Comic Digests. The perfect gift for the reader with forty-five seconds to kill. I know it’s perverse and all but still, I wish some sort of “complete” FW existed somewhere, if for no other reason that for reference purposes. I’d really love to set aside an hour and just plow through the entire run in one sitting, just to see how coherent (lol) and/or entertaining it actually is as a whole.

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Dummmmm…Dummmmmmm

Link To Today’s Strip

It’s almost hard to believe that the same guy responsible for last week’s atrocious jokes was also responsible for this terrible-yet-not-quite-as-bad gag, isn’t it? Apparently our old friend Fitness Girl isn’t just a trainer but some sort of all-purpose Fitness Guru. I honestly don’t care either way, as I’m still basking in the post-Adeela era, like someone who’s crawling out of a bomb shelter on a dismal drizzly day and is just thrilled to have survived at all. And besides, seeing Funky in physical pain is oddly satisfying, like when you look at the cricket you just whomped with your shoe. It’d be WAY more satisfying if it were Les but I suppose you can’t have everything.

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Breaking Fat

Link To Today’s Strip

First of all, let’s all take a moment to salute everyone on the SoSF staff, especially those who endured that SEVEN WEEK Wally fiasco. May we never speak of or have to type “Adeela” again.

Yep, we all needed a break after THAT debacle. Normally a “Funky goes to the gym” arc would have me reaching for the cyanide gun but right now it’s like the first really nice day of spring, all full of hope and invigorating. That will wear off by tomorrow, mind you, but still. This is FW and you take your pleasures where you find them. So the eternally fat Funky is at the gym with Fitness Girl, complaining about something and etc. No tornado sirens, no PTSD, no stilted dialog…by God it’s almost downright PLEASANT. It’s all relative, as they say. Sure, it’s ridiculous how he keeps working with a trainer he hates and how he never loses any weight but who cares, anything is a welcome change after seven weeks of Wally’s nonsense.

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Marathon Pun

So how did Lisa do in the Lisa Legacy Run featured in today’s strip?

She finished dead last.

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Running on Empty

Link to today’s strip

Good news, everybody! Funky doesn’t need to get all meth’d up before pounding the track with Les! He’s tweak free! But just look at the poor bastard. All those drugs really took a toll on him – it looks like Les is jogging with Mort.

engrishI still can’t figure out what goes through T-Bats’ head when he coins a nonsense phrase or tries to force a new meaning onto a bit of the language. Does he think he’s so influential that his imagined meanings will sweep the language and the popular imagination? Does he look at his inked words and think to himself, “Yep. That sounds just like real life”? Or does he just kind of mindlessly parrot out phonemes that he thinks sound cool? He’s like an Engrish T-Shitsu Generator. Man, that is so nordic. Truly, I stand in line.

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Get A Grip

Bull’s busted racket in today’s strip would fit real nicely around Les’ cranium, wouldn’t it? Alas, the grinning visage Les sports in panel 1 as he patronizes Bull shows no obvious signs of blunt force trauma.

And so here we are at the presumable conclusion of a 5 strip story arc centered on a “friendly” tennis match between Les and Bull played in Westview, Ohio. It ends with one character welcoming the certainty and nearness of death. Of course it does…

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Deuce-bag

Les Moore’s tour of temerity continues in today’s strip. I think we’re seeing why it has been so long since Bull played tennis with Les.

The man is a monster. An individual devoid of any redeeming value. The reason alien invaders will cite for killing every last member of the human race. The image of him smirking, poised to serve, has soured me on the sport of tennis entirely. The revenge fantasies of 90s pop punk bands were kinder to their one-time high school bullies than Les. Donald Trump is appalled by his lack of tact and Bill Laimbeer cannot fathom his level of sportsmanship.

The craziest thing, to me, is that we have known the above to be true for years. We expected this kind of behavior, we know it is coming. It’s terrifying to think about.

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