Most of you read today’s Luann in the paper (we’re all still reading the comics in the paper, right?) and then poked at the URL at the bottom of the third panel with your finger a few times, remembered that we don’t live in the future yet, and went about your day. A brave few of you went online to hear “Hey Boy” in all its glory, planning on putting it on your Facebook and Twitter and totally leveraging the Luann brand across social networks, only to discover that embedding was disabled for some reason, almost as if the creators were worried about people putting it on their websites and making fun of it. And yet they didn’t turn off comments, which is great, because it meant that we were rewarded with this most ultraserious comment about a terrible rendition of a dumb song from a comic strip that has ever been posted on the Internet, from “PalatinPorteau”:
The lyrics were about what I’d imagine a teenage girl like Luann to write in a poem, but the production values were not impressive. If you’re going to have such a breathy vocalist, you need to balance that with music that doesn’t sound as if Quill said, “well, if you’re not going to sing any stronger, then I’m not going to back you up any firmer either. Oh, and forget the bass, I’m taking that with me and I’m leaving right now.”
There is literally nothing I can follow this up with, other than a brief note that the lyrics “one of us is bustin’ free” is of course accompanied by a drawing of Luann in a bathing suit.
Apartment 3-G, 8/27/10
Ha ha, at last, the dark heart of the current Apartment 3-G storyline is revealed, and we see the terrifying psychological warfare that the I Dressed In The Dark politburo uses to force its will on the hapless contestants. How much do you really love your long, flowing hair Lu Ann? Do you love it so much that you’re willing to see Tommie and Margo tortured? Actually, based on all the simpering she’s been doing, she probably does. I don’t think she particularly likes Tommie and Margo much anyway.
Oh, please, we all know that pluggers have the local pizza place’s number memorized. Sometimes they’ll call when they not even hungry, just lonely, just because they need to hear another human voice, which explains a lot about their waistlines.