SosfdavidO here! It looks like Dinkle and Company have decided to stay another day, unless this blues band is jamming out at 9am. Is it one day later? A week? Did they go through a time jump again? Today’s strip doesn’t have a lot of clues.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
Once again BatYack delivers some totally inexplicable dialog. I assume that she’s asking Harry for his opinion regarding this newfangled “Memphis sound” that’s sweeping the nation. He approves of it and vaguely hints at investigating it further. It’s an exchange that couldn’t happen in real life for a wide variety of reasons, but of course here in FW it’s completely natural.
Harry Dinkle, always an egocentric dick right til the bitter end. “Hmmm, this newfangled soulful jazzy bluesy music sure is interesting! I wonder what they call it? And more importantly, how can I incorporate it into my band director shtick especially given that I’ve been retired for years?”. Sure Tom, the character with music notes stuck to his house is just now discovering the music of the fifties…whatever you say.
Gertrude(?): “So what do you think, Harry?”
Dinkle: “They call it free jazz, but I think they should be paying us!”
Both “D’OH HO HO HO!”
The oldsters hit the late night Memphis jazz scene, thanks to the bowl of amphetamines they keep by the door. I mean, otherwise, these swingin’ cats are ready for bed by 8 pm. Forget the stolen van. Forget the trip to Memphis in the snow. Forget that these guys can play and record music other human life forms would ever want to hear. This all-night recording and clubbing they’ve been doing is the hardest to believe.
Next: And now that Batty is overconfident about his readers being willing to believe absolutely anything, he has the Bedsore Manor inmates field a football team to play a scrimmage against a team fielded by Blind Willie and his swingin’ jazzeroos. Bull appears out of nowhere to coach the nursing home patients. The oldsters play the game AND put on the halftime show. Later, they all go out for pizza and comic books!
Batty gives himself a high five in the mirror and takes a victory lap around his mom’s attic. Pulitzertown, here we come!
Next week: Because we’re in a bar, a fight and gunplay breaks out. Everyone is shot dead, except Visually Impaired William, who was stabbed to death on account of not being able to smell a knife.
Suddenly, Dinkleberry awakes in a cold sweat in his own bed in Ahia. “It was alllll a dream! Yeah, I THOUGHT that was all kinda ridiculous. Oh well. Time for my hourly piss.”
If this were the fifties, it would almost be believable. It’s not the fifties.
Blond Sunglasses Dude has either broken his neck or been replaced with an animatronic.
“And now, before we take a break so’s y’all can get on with yo’ fightin’ an’ gunplay, lemme introduce my band! There’s Blind Broke Neck Spuddz on bass, Sleepy McPornstache onna drums, and some guy who keeps sayin’ he knows me on clarinet. We back in ten. Lock an’ load!”
I guess they are playing some sort of Jazz because well there just aren’t a lot of blues clarinet players (I looked).
Was thinking the same. Total crap.
And not a lot of music scored for trumpet, clarinet, trombone, violin, and drums. Fortunately, none of these idiots can read music.