March 7th, 2007

Snarky Candiru2

Josef Weeder: Bestest Best Friend[tm]

It occurs to me from time to time that Mike's buddy Weed may not be as good a friend as the Noble Scribe thinks he is. Every so often, he says or does something a little off-putting that gets me to wondering 'Is he putting St. Narcissus on, or what?' At first glance, he seem to be Lynn's take on the character 'T.J.', from the comic strip LuAnn by Greg Evans. Brad's friend is a manifestation of someone I call the fuck-up fairy. What I mean is that he's a well-intentioned, confident, intelligent-seeming fellow whose breezy idiocy lands LuAnn's older brother in hot water time and again. Weed seems to be a more benign, competent version of the fallible, ever-smiling goofy sidekick. However, certain things emerge that show him in a more questionable light. What raised alarm bells in my minds was his discouraging Mikerobe from buying his apartment bulding from Mrs. Saltzmann when it only required a certain amount of upkeep and turning around and latching on to it when he could flip the place for big bucks. The second thing revolves around his whole 'money's a crutch' philosophy; for someone who claims to be rebelling against materialism, he sure knows his way around cash, doesn't he? Especially when you consider he claims to be estranged from his Dad, whom we never see to confirm or deny Jo's sob-story. What REALLY got me confused is Mike's blithe assumption that a hard-nosed business type like Weeder Senior would sell his interest in a major import-export business to go in cahoots with Sonny Boy to reno a run-down apartment in East Buttfuck, Ontario. NOT GONNA HAPPEN!! Weed's antics sorta remind me of a French movie whose name I forget; the premise is that a group of professionals and other yuppy scum get together every month to a fancy dinner. The one stipluation is their guest has to be a complete knuckle-dragging simpleton and the guy who brings the loopiest dick-chode wins a small cash prize. For all WE know, the Delicate Genius could be the patsy in some sort of Millionaire Moron Initiative. Hell, if he IS, the cartoon bohemian might have got a lifetime achievement award in his safe-deposit box before he hit thirty.