My fellow snarkers have beat me to the punch on this one. Whew indeed! I might add, wow.
Look at Cayla’s face in the panel where she’s thinking “If Lisa were here?” and the following, “Whew!” panel! Yes, gaze upon Tom Batiuk’s vision of a woman.
She is weak, dim-witted, and worthless on her own. Only her relationship to Les Moore enables any worth to devolve upon her. She is the luckiest woman on earth to have hooked up with the greatest auteur the world has ever known.
Feh.
I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift,
nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet
riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but
time and chance happeneth to them all.—Ecclesiastes 9:11
We returned, and saw that the race was not to the fat and sweaty, nor
does the colorist know what color to make the cheeks of an overheated
fat guy. Yea, verily, we returned, and—what? The race is already
over‽ I told you you’d be incredulous about how this ends.
Time and chance happeneth to them all, but it would have been nice to
see some of the action. Now I know our favorite auteur is all about
telling and not showing, but this is ridiculous. Talk about cutting to
the chase: Batominc cuts past the chase.
Worst of all, Funky didn’t die.
Now let’s do Funky’s biblical scorecard:
| Virtue | Funky’s score |
|---|---|
| Swiftness | NO |
| Strength | NO |
| Wisdom | NO |
| Understanding | NO |
| Skill | NO |
| Quick or Dead | Quick, but suffering |
On Westview’s curve, that’s an A+.
The falling lard falls on his buttocks
Like the fall leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, they’re cyanotic
The glass of wine you used to hold
(with apologies to Nat King Cole Jacques Prévert & Johnny Mercer)
What’s this‽ It looks as though Funky Winkerbean has collapsed before the race has even begun, because of course he has.
Les: Is Funky okay?
The Universe: Of course he’s not, you fool! Did you think you could drag his obese, sedentary arse out of that pizza parlor once a month and turn him into an athlete? I’ll kill him and all of you, if it’s the last thing I do! Mwahahahahah!
Not to spoil anything, but you won’t believe how this ends. No, really: you simply won’t find it believable. The verisimilitude is quite literally incredible.
Update 11 October 2013:
Nat Cole? Jacques Prevert!—gleeb
Get yer Funky Winkerbean tropes here! Let’s see how many I can list:
This one’s not a trope (yet), but what has been going on with that banner? Its right side is suspended by—magic? a ginormous protrusion from Derwood’s occipital skull? writing?
According to a UCSF study, when it comes to funding medical research
Depression ($719 M), injuries ($691 M), and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease ($613 M) were the most underfunded.
If you visit this NIH funding report and click on one of the table headings to sort by actual funding, you’ll find that cancer research is well funded. Given how depressing this serious serial art form is, I might have a suggestion for a more worthy target for Funky Winkerbean’s charitable efforts.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to encourage donations to fund cancer treatment and research. It’s a generous and kind thing to do. But the constant droning of Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa… mentally drowns out the actual cause.
Not to mention poor Cayla (I thought I said not to mention her!). She’s barely visible in the background of panel 1, joyfully carrying a carton of T-shirts bearing her predecessor’s name, all the while about to be struck by a no-doubt suicidal falling leaf. At least the colorist remembered to use Fall colors for the leaves this time. Cayla’s daughter, of whom Cayla is the mother, is a barely differentiated smudge against the backdrop of The Gazebo in Westview (panel 2).
The titular character appears today, prominently displaying the effects of the contextual reality field that ensures he’s trim enough to run whenever the plot requires it. Don’t fret, though: he’ll be 75 pounds heavier the moment he returns to work at Montoni’s.
Son of Stuck Funky 