Merry Pookster
December 21, 2015 at 9:35 pm
Is Dinkle and Harriet (w/violin) now living there?
I had been wondering about the plump little lady violinist too. It’d be nice to see Harriet supporting her husband’s interests (in other ways besides “putting out” for him). But alas, a check of the archives turns up this strip from last June in which in which Dinkle comes home to Harriet after rehearsing the band.
Shucks. Even the allies and the Germans called a truce at Christmas during WWI, and besides, today’s strip is hard to get that worked up about. Let me use this space then to doff the ol’ SoSF Santa cap to my esteemed staff of guest authors, and on behalf of them and myself, wish every one of you a merry Christmas and a happy, healthy, safe, and prosperous New Year.
It sure took long enough, but today it finally occurs to Dinkle just how far from the big time he has fallen. The director whose band once marched in the Tournament of Roses Parade, the author and autobiographer, the egomaniac who envisioned his band marching from his giant, inflatable head, must spend this Christmas conducting for an audience of one.
I mentioned yesterday how Mort Winkerbean’s mental acuity has vastly improved since he’s been in the home. But lately it’s Batiuk’s mind that’s got me worried: is it mere laziness or encroaching senility that produces what passes for jokes around here these days? This must be a repurposed Scapegoat marching band gag. Dinkle’s disparaged his musical proficiency before, so I gather Mort hasn’t the chops to handle first trombone. But…”a third trombonist” joining the band? Mort’s the only trombonist, regardless of which part he’s playing. Would another trombonist automatically promoted to first chair, bumping Mort to third?
The first impulse is to ring the “Batiuk’s making light of mental illness again” bell. But I think TB’s merely guilty here of employing the old cartoonists’ “psychiatrist cliché” (Google “psychiatrist couch cartoon” to see just how cliché). It was reliable enough schtick when Batiuk’s idol Charles Schulz used it (nearly 60 years ago). Anyway, whatever therapy ol’ Mort derives from this dog, it’s doing wonders! When Funky dumped him in “the home” five years ago, he was practically catatonic. Since then, he’s taken up smoking, has picked up the trombone, and is now nearly indistinguishable from his son.
Son of Stuck Funky 
