. . . Get Jobs

Although not dated, I remember doing this.  The whole idea of FnP working in a strip club was not as exciting as them just going to a strip club.  So that whole idea was shit canned.

I was out of the service and away from all the good friends that used to love the 'toon.  I decided to post new 'toons on the 'net for new and old friends alike.
Each week, a new serial 'toon would be posted on Friday.  This lasted for an amazing FOUR weeks.
After doing this I realized that poor Peckerhead looked scrunched in his chair.  Bad artist! BAD! BAD!  So I threw that quick line in there about the little chair.  This page establishes that the famous lawn chairs and cooler scenes were done from the balcony of the apartment.

I had bought an electrified geeetar from Earl Plate in '97 and didn't know a damn thing 'bout tuning it, much less playing.  I actually invented my own alternate tuning based on whatever didn't sound fucked up, as in out of phase.  At least I did go from low to high notes from the 6th to the 1st strings. What a dumbass.
Anyone who has ever consistently bought 12 packs for themselves, knows that a kitchen garbage can will only hold so many bottles.  But we try anyway hoping that one mathematical perturbation will yield one result in which gravity is defied.
The last panel suggest that Peckerhead, a dumbass with Peppermint Patty hair and a ball cap with a fuckin' woodpecker on it, is somehow several magnitudes higher as a chick magnet than Fred, who doesn't look like a dork with strange avian fetishes.  I guess it is true that women respond to confidence, even the confidence to look like an idiot.  Honestly this is the first time I noticed this odd quirk.  And I've been drawing this for years.

Hooking up with strippers.  I've heard this could happen.  But people can easily lie.  I've never hooked up with any strippers, but I have gone to breakfast with some with Scott to one nasty ass I.H.O.P.  There was one stripper I could and should have hooked up with in that period when the first wife was enjoying dalliances of her own.  Petite Laura Uphold from Maryland that worked a stint at Teasers on HWY 117, who knew that the Sun was a star and liked Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and had the gall to give herself an orgasm while lap dancing me.
I should have filed for divorce the next day.
I found her phone number in the phone book and never had the nerve to call it.  Pussy.  The last panel isn't really a side splitter, but it proves Peckerhead wrong.  Because, you know, that's really important. 
I do know for a fact that what talkative Holly is thinking is what actual strippers think.  I asked one once as part of a little cartooning investigation.  I find it surprising easy to talk to strippers, and surprising difficult to talk to women who aren't.  I guess once you take your clothes off, the ice is pretty much broken.  Plus the dancer/client relationship is well understood.
Nothing really funny here, just some set ups for things that I never got to.

At least Fred was kind enough to get his bud a beer. 
Maybe Fred should be little bit nicer to women, but his observation is pretty damn accurate.  What was true for '98 is true for today, if the establishments in Knoxville TN are any barometer.
Looks like some child tried to draw around that speech balloon.
Fucking kids.
Wasn't Honey expecting Peckerhead?

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