David Boring is the story of a guy struggling to escape the influence of his overbearing mother. David Boring is the story of a guy and his lesbian roommate making their way in the big city. David Boring is the story of a guy whose old friend is mysteriously killed. David Boring is the story of a guy trying to get over the perfect relationship. David Boring is the story of a guy trying to understand his absent father by pouring over his obscure superhero artwork. David Boring is the story of a guy who wants to be a filmmaker but never gets around to filming anything. David Boring is the story of a guy trapped on an island with a half dozen of his friends, relatives, and enemies, while the world may or may not be coming to an end around them. David Boring is the story of a guy who happens to be a sexual deviant with a fetish for... ah, women, apparently? David Boring is the story of a guy wanted for a murder he didn’t commit. David Boring is the story of a guy who gets shot in the head and lives. (Oh also those are all the same guy.)
In other words, David Boring isn't really a story at all, so much as a collection of high concepts wrestling for panel space. It reads like Dan Clowes decided to toss all of his b-ideas into one book, in the hopes that the whole would be more than the sum of the parts, or at least he'd get them out of his system. It’s not without its moments, especially in the first act, before the excess complications move in and Clowes loses the thread of his narrative. But on the whole, it’s rambling and incoherent, and not in that Lynchian, bone-shaking way like Clowes's earlier Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron (which does nearly everything David Boring tries to do, only better and without losing its focus). Just regular, “Is this actually going anywhere?” incoherent, unfortunately.
