Logan is playing an age old scheme. A game as old as the rolodex and the address book. She’s not really interested in Malcolm now, in fact, never really wanting to see him again, but still wants to keep the echo of a line open. Another invisible thread in her bundle of similar invisible threads so that, when time gets short or she get tired of the hunt, she can yank on that bundle and see which fish haven’t been caught yet. See which fish have gone from bony bait to a trophy. Catch and release romance.
erdmann and newagepalimpsest had a different take on Malcolm and Logan reiterating over and over to each other that this is their last date:
And…wow. The nihilistic existential dread in the idea that you are an unimportant fictional character that is doomed to not only cease to exist, but cease to be remembered, the moment the eye of your uncaring creator finally passes from you. That you are conscious and aware only in this meaningless moment, and all that you have is the companionship of those trapped in the same hell, teetering on the edge of the cliff that will plunge both of you into damnatio memoriae. That is some psychological horror that Batiuk never has the guts or ambition to delve in to.
I feel sick.
Existential horror isn’t the only nightmare we’re subjected to today. We also have a visual monstrosity in the background of the first panel. In fact, you guys have been spotting weirdos in the background all week. I wonder what it is like to experience the Funkyverse from their eyes. What their stories might be.
“Jeremy ‘Jay’ Raffe knew that wearing his hair down would hide the damage from the accident, that horrible day with the taffy puller that had changed his life forever. He’d grown his hair out intending to do just that. But…gradually he had realized, self-acceptance is all about control over what you choose to be. You cannot be a freak without your consent. And if he was going to be a freak, it would be for the manbun he chose, and not the neck that he didn’t.”Paul Roberts’ mother told him that his father was a great man, a great man who had worked for great men. Before he’d left her, he’d shown her a Philips-Norelco PC80 color broadcast camera, and said that when his son was old enough to lift it, he should take what was under it and come find him. She’d only find out later about all the cameras. All the cameras, all the women, and all the green plaid shirts. Dozens of boys and men, travelling the country, wearing the emerald flags of their patrimony, hoping to find their father, and instead finding brothers with the same story and the same dream. Many had stopped the search for Father Roberts, taken off their shirts and changed their names…but Paul still held out hope. Even as his shirt faded, his dream never died. That someday from out of the crowd he would feel a hand on his shoulder, and a voice calling him, “Son.”“‘Seven days….” the childlike voice had whispered over the phone. But Charles ‘Chet’ Bruin wasn’t too concerned. His buddy, Seth, knew he had the tape and knew he was going to watch it once he’d dug his parents’ old VHS player out of the downstairs closet. It was just a senior prank. ‘Seven Days’ to graduation. Much Lulz for the TikTok.
Chet was running home after the ceremony to grab his trunks when he heard a crash from the living room. He ran in to see his dad’s precious 146 inch Samsung LED flatscreen had fallen off the wall. When he lifted it, underneath he found her, soaking wet in a nightgown. A little on the wan side, maybe, but kinda cute. She looked up at him with the palest blue eyes. He had to at least give it a shot.
“You wanna go to a graduation party?” Chet asked. “My sister has a swimsuit that would probably fit you.”
She smirked at him. Then opened her mouth impossibly wide. And Chet knew, it was gonna be a good party.”
Logan, woman to fictional girl, I think this better be your last potentially romantic date with your good pal Malcolm.
I mean, I guess he’s tall. And next to cowlick Connor and certified Michelin Manlet Bernie, he’s okay looking. Yeah, he’s got a receding hairline, but what fresh-faced Westview teen doesn’t have one? I mean just look the crowd at that graduation party you went to!
That’s a lotta kids in baseball caps for a pool party…
But girl. I’m seeing some SERIOUS red flags. You better put him right back in the friendzone.
I know from my work at the gas station, that a lot of the young high schoolers these days have debit cards. All well and good. But a credit card?
I remember the day my mom handed me a credit card with my own name on it. She said it was linked to her account. She said she would be able to see everything I bought. She said it was only for emergencies. Like if I was stranded in a blizzard and needed a hotel. (Many of my mom’s worst case scenarios involve blizzards. It’s also why she refuses to get rid of the compressed bale of old blankets wedged in her linen closet.) She gave me one of those serious mom stares. I felt like I was walking around with the nuclear football tucked into my nylon wallet.
But Malcolm tells us that this is HIS credit card. I guess that means Malcolm is 18, and has an independent source of income. Which would seem like points his in favor. But then he says he must have maxed it out and didn’t realize it? And so Logan has to pay for the latest rehashed Marvel product?
I don’t have a smart phone. My phone has a calculator, and always knows what time it is, so it’s already smarter than me. I had a smart phone for about six month, before I ruined it jumping into a pond to fish out a newborn calf. Now I’m playing a game of chicken with a 10 year old diet-blackberry Samsung to see which quits first, the phone or the entire 3G Network. (Looks like the phone will win.)
But I have seen the wizardry available with the internet in the palm of your hand. I’ve seen people at the checkout have a card decline, pull out their phone and pay it off, or transfer money from one account to another, in minutes. I’ve seen people glancing at their phones and checking their balance before telling me exactly how much in sticky quarters they’re going to give me to pay for their pack of Camels so they can run the rest on their cards.
Meaning, any tech literate young zoomer is going to be able to pay down the balance on their credit card with their phone on the spot.
Meaning, Malcolm not only has maxed out his credit card, he lacks the funds in his bank account to pay it down. And he didn’t think to check on this before his very special date with Logan? A date where he only brought his credit card? He’s already in debt, but was going to tack interest charges onto a date?
And I know most starting out credit cards have pretty low credit lines, but still $1000, $500?
Then he looks Logan in the eye, face both tired and pained, and tells her that this is nothing…barely peanuts…to the crippling debt he’s planning to inflict on himself. Malcolm already has a solid figure in his mind, so much so that he already counts that debt as HIS before he’s sat through a single lecture. Tens of thousands of dollars, maybe hundreds of thousands, more money than most people make in a decade, are already hanging over his head, future promise bucks handed from lender to unnamed college in his name. For what?
Why is he going to a college expensive enough to drain the light from his eyes? What are his plans? Does he have a career path that requires a degree? Because he isn’t being bankrolled by scripture sales from the Cult of Dead St. Lisa. He doesn’t have an Endless Summer to spend puttering around a university changing his major from one useless certificate to another.
College can be a rewarding place to learn, to find yourself, to make new friends, to fall in love, and have exciting experiences. So can summer camp. You do not go 40 grand in debt for summer camp. You go 40 grand in debt because you have a clear goal that necessitates that sacrifice.
Come on, Logan! Surely with your ABC News boosted business blog, you should be able to talk him out of the biggest and most expensive mistake an aimless young graduate can make:
Today’s strip recalls one of the very last things that ever appeared in Act I… and uses it to mourn the death of print media? Look, I dunno what’s going on in the last panel, but I can tell you what happened in flashback panels.
After bumming everyone out with his awful valedictorian speech, Les just… hung out in the auditorium until everyone left, sulking in the unfulfillment of getting a high school diploma.
This would have been a perfect time for “Mooch” Myers to burn the school down.
Then he headed out to the “Student Council Graduation Party” in the middle school gym, as seen in today’s flashback, finding the place deserted aside from Coach Stropp.
Be glad Les doesn’t narrate his life any more.
Why was the Student Council Graduation Party a dumb idea? Why was the party deserted?
You couldn’t draw Coach Stropp’s resplendent jacket in today’s flashback, Ayers? For shame…
Yep, Cindy held a huge graduation party at the mall that everybody attended… including MTV VJ Karen “Duff” Duffy and some poor souls who entered an MTV contest to win a free trip to Westview.
Les, however, sat in the middle school gym with his free copy of the yearbook, reminiscing about the good times he had with his friends in high school rather than going and actually spending time with him. After a week’s worth of strips of this, Act II began…
I do not know if next week will time warp us into Act IV or not, but I do know I will be leaving this site in the skilled hands (and mind) of ComicBookHarriet. Godspeed.
Did you know Linda teaches history at Westview HS? No? Well, then you you’ll learn something from today’s strip. It is, apparently, more than any of Linda’s students can say they’ve learned in several years now.
Yeah, well, she was supposed to be retired by now and she’s only in it for the pension anyways… Plus, the last time I think we saw her actually teach anything she was teaching the “Family Living Course” back when we were still meeting the Owen&Cody generation of kids.
The good news is we can all boot up our Packard Bells and our MS Paints and join Bernie out in Tinseltown, where we’ll be paid handsomely for our rudimentary green screen skills (citation needed). Here’s a blank Bernie to start with:
Son of Stuck Funky 
