Category: Son of Stuck Funky

Un-A-Track-Tive

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Look at that first panel, it just screams “I have nothing here”. And whaddya know…he doesn’t. Unless you consider today’s bit of woeful wordplay to be “something”, which I do not. Still though, after two weeks of marching band gags I’m willing to accept this one even in spite of Dick Facey’s loathsome presence. What a dick.

And that’s it for me, fellow snarkers…stay tuned for the Funk-tastic snark stylings of billytheskink, who hopefully manages to avoid the onslaught of band gags that haunted me this time around!

Garage Turkeys Re-Re-Visited

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Uh yeah Becky, they’ll “celebrate” with a “holiday (presumably Memorial Day) meal” consisting of ancient freezer-burned band turkeys…a prospect that apparently amuses Becky to no end based on her deranged wry smirking. Not even a rotting band turkey would land with a thud as leaden as this gag, which was quite clearly a desperate “hail Mary” attempt to fill that last sad and empty word balloon with SOMETHING…anything…no matter how incredibly dumb it was. A silent strip featuring the band parents walking out to the parking lot and starting their cars would have been way, way funnier than this.

Ahhh-Trophy

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Someone, please, make it stop. Today we see just how bad a marching band gag can get, as BatNom reaches the bottom of the barrel, plunges his fist straight through it and grabs a handful of slug and worm-riddled soil beneath said barrel…just because he can. See, the horrible marching band full of useless slacker teens wins SO MANY TROPHIES that they actually need an ENTIRE BUILDING to house them. And fortunately for the marching band, WHS JUST HAPPENS to have an entire building to SELL to the perennially-cash strapped band, which is rather fortuitous if I do say so myself. Everyone wins! Well, almost everyone, as regular FW readers might not consider Becky’s truly obnoxious Dinkle-esque cackle as being a “win”. I do like that weird angle in panel two, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her pinned-up sleeve from that perspective before.

Flutophoning It In

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Good ol’ FW, always with that smirking contempt for things BanTom likes. So to reiterate, the WHS marching band is a deeply competitive, proud and Ohio-renowned institution full of lazy talent-less slackers whose parents actually receive awards for enduring the shrill horrifying noises their offspring produce when they practice, which according to FW lore is extremely rare. Got that?

And no band parent has it worse than those whose children play the dreaded flutophone. Sandy’s actually handling it better than some other band parents, as overeating is preferable to the alcohol and illegal drugs some band parents need to make it through even one more day of that incessant racket…award-winning racket, I might add. It must be quite an honor to receive an award plaque from Becky. Not because of the award itself which of course is totally meaningless, but because it’s just harder for Becky to hand things to other people, what with the missing arm and all.

A Cymbal Of The Decline Of The American Comic Strip

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Fortunately “Hattie” didn’t turn into the pianist, as we all know how painful THAT can be. Once again BanTom finds “humor” in the college sports analogies, this time resorting to absolutely fail-safe comedic gold…head injuries and wordplay. You can’t go wrong there, no sir-ee. Onward drag the marching band gags, at this point I can’t even remember what FW was like before the band gags began. Was it always like this? Did anything else…at all…happen before this brutal onslaught of marching band jokes? Talk about “concussion protocol”, I feel like I’ve been beaten with a sweat sock full of padlocks over here.

Hattie?? Who the hell has named their kid Hattie since the 1920s? Come on, BatNom, get with the times and choose a more era-appropriate name, like Susaynn or Jocelynn or Brittanee or Kyrrsten or Ambyre or Rayne. Even “Hattye” would be more believable.