beckoningchasm

Candy Crush

So, the evil internet, with its Twitter Tots, Internuts and beady eyed nitpickers has come to the rescue of the Bedside Manor oldsters? I wonder what changed in Tom Batiuk’s worldview, to admit that the internet actually has some use… No, not really–actually, I wonder how we’re going to be shown what didn’t change, as we watch the oldsters fall victim to web hucksterism, and see their accrued cash disappear into some bitcoin Hell, along with their crushed dreams of release from Dinkle. Dinkle, of course, will be there, smirking to beat the band (yes, that’s intentional) and telling them how he knew this was going to happen. But while he is a god of wrath, he can be merciful. All they have to do is put themselves back into his hands. There’s still time to sell band candy, he’ll purr.

…you know, I may have been doing this Funky Winkerbean commentary thing way too long. The idea of something genuinely positive happening to someone other than Les Moore–that idea seems to automatically reject itself. The fact that it was the oldsters themselves who came up with this scheme, and NOT Harry Dinkle, seems to doubly condemn the oldsters to the sourest of outcomes.

I honestly had no idea that cynicism, by which I mean my cynicism, could be this deep, and this broad. It’s no wonder I paint nothing but skulls, lately.

Speaking of which, does anyone know who “Connie” is? I assume she’s the drummer, but I get lost when the characters here are only named when medical emergencies prevent them from doing their due Dinkle diligence. I do know one of them is named Carl, but only because he was a wuss and nearly died.

Oh, well…at least Tom Batiuk ended this one in two frames, because it looks like Mort/Violin player are starting to get a bit randy in panel two, and that’s rather more than I need to see. It doesn’t help with the cynicism thing at all.

We’re Not Gonna Take It

Link to today’s strip.

Oh joy, it’s Dinkle again. While Mort’s open rebellion against Dinkle’s iron rule is certainly welcome, it doesn’t mitigate the fact that we’re dealing with Dinkle.*

I guess back in 1972, recording an album was probably prohibitively expensive for a small ensemble. Nowadays, even the cheapest laptop can do so (provided it comes with a CD/DVD drive–which is actually becoming scarce on a lot of computers). Most laptops come with a microphone, and software is included on both Windows and Mac systems to record audio and burn it to CD. That’s all you need if you want to get a “live” sounding recording, which is what I suspect Dinkle is after. Oh, and you’ll need a blank CD. Which are pretty much available everywhere–I’ve seen them for sale in grocery stores.

Now, if you want to record separate instruments and add effects, that’s going to cost money, right? Eh, depends. Nice mixers with built-in effects can be pretty inexpensive, and as for software, well, there’s Audacity which comes with a hefty price tag of “free.” Oh, Audacity has a definite learning curve, but what are these old people going to do with their time anyway? If it gets too tough, have them smoke some cigarettes until their brains engage again. I’ve used Audacity extensively for my own animations and after a while, it’s pretty easy.

I’ve gone on at length about recording because I’m trying to ignore the “storyline” on display here. This was a stupid idea when it was first introduced and it hasn’t improved since. I don’t have a problem with the Bedside Manor band itself; I actually think it’s a great idea to get old people engaged in an activity like this. But now that the strip is all wish-fulfillment all the time, I’m going to guess that this arc will conclude with the CD being a runaway best-seller and Dinkle being offered the presidency of Columbia Records or some damned thing.

Or, more likely, it’ll be dropped and next Sunday will be Funky and Les jogging. Get to the 50th anniversary, but don’t unmoor too many of those boats on the way.

* That should be the album title, “Dealing with Dinkle.” Tragedy and unflinching fate in three words.

Every Day Is Like Sunday

Link to today’s strip.

The above link goes to the NJ link since, as is traditional, the Sunday strips are too precious to drop on the unwashed. So you’ll have to wait until midnight to taste Tom Batiuk’s genius. (Yeah, I know–ewww! Total double–yuck!)

I’m guessing we’re going to get more Dinkle, because what better way to spit in the face of your readers than with Harry Dinkle? I’m not really asking for alternative answers to that question, but feel free in the comments to describe Batiuk’s ultimate expression of disdain.

Les Moore and Darrin Undesirable are equally awful characters, but at least they can be defeated–in the first case, by having to meet his public, in the second by denying certain pens, but Dinkle…how does one defeat Dinkle? Near as I can remember, in the diminishing brain-space left to me, Dinkle has always been praised and has never suffered a setback.

I think it’s well past time for that lack to be addressed, but I suspect that will never happen.

One more thing to regret too late on this year’s Anti-Thanksgiving’s Black Weekend.

Dinkle Dinkle, Little Hell

Link to today’s strip.

A smoldering dump, an overflowing toilet, and a cretinous idiot walk into a bar. The bartender says, “What’ll it be, Mr. Dinkle?”

It’s hard to convey how much I loathe Dinkle, but today’s episode provides some evidence as to why I do. Normally, this strip would end at the second panel, with Becky’s pun (admittedly far superior to anything offered by the students). But no, Dinkle has to have a panel to explain how he, in essence, “allowed” Becky to have her joke, but she shouldn’t get any ideas about how she “got” him.

I find it surprising that Dinkle wasn’t the one to deliver the pun. Maybe Tom Batiuk realized that Becky was, in the main, a pretty worthless character and he ought to have her do something, even if it’s not much of a something. Bonus points to Rick Burchett for not showing the pinned-up sleeve at all–a first, I think–and for giving Dinkle a really bad profile in panel three. I mean, look at that! He looks like a someone drew a face on a pinto bean. Maybe Burchett is learning to hate these characters as much as normal people do.

If Batiuk had Dinkle die horribly in a fire, I would lobby the Pulitzer Committee so hard…I mean, that would actually deserve the award.

The Case of the Case of Scotch

Link to today’s strip.

You know, if I saw a couple of teenagers hauling a mattress toward my house, I’m not sure I would deduce that they are 1) high school students and that 2) they are selling mattresses to raise funds. (I’m not sure what I would make of it, to be honest.) That this guy has correctly deduced all this makes him much more of a detective than either Bernie or Thatsnought; thus, he has every right to ignore the “wit” offered, pivot on his heel, and slam the door in the faces of these inept salesmen. Something I’d honestly like to see happen more often to the regular cast, followed of course by dumping vats of boiling oil over them. I’ll stop there, because I could probably go on for page after page of Funky Winkerbean cast humiliation, and I’d never get any work done.

Is it my eyes, or is that mattress getting smaller and smaller? They should just sell them as pet beds, because no human being over the age of six is going to spend a comfortable night on one of those. That is, if “comfortable night” is a possibility in this strip.