Category: Son of Stuck Funky

The Lights In The Sky Are Stars

Link to today’s strip.

This could be kind of sweet, if we liked these characters even slightly.  Since they have been deliberately fashioned to be as unlikable as possible, instead this is just three panels of wasted space.

It’s interesting how the viewpoint shifts–in panel one, Les starts with “I’m,” meaning he (as usual) only cares about his own feelings.  In panel three, Cayla goes for the “We’ll,” somehow hoping to include herself.  Does she really think she’ll ever be included in Les’ world?

I can’t really think of anything else to say about this one, so on to the comment section wi’ ye!

Chips Ahoy

Link to today’s strip.

Well, it’s the same dim-witted word-play, the same squinty eyes, the same smirks all around.  Everyone looks both miserable and punchable as always.   Or, as it’s usually known around here, “Friday.”

I confess – I wrote the above paragraph before I’d even seen the strip.  I figure it’s a good guess.  We’ve had four days of “Lisa’s favorite tree must be culled” and when the Glorious Author has a Lisa Fetish, that’s an itch that just can’t be scratched away in a strip or two.   That Pulitzer nomination must just gnaw at Tom Batiuk night and day, all seasons of the year, every waking moment.   That’s the lure of the established awards culture.

You know what made me re-think the entire “Awards Have Meaning” thing?  The 1979 Grammy Awards.  The nominees for “Best New Artist” were Chris Rea, The Cars, Elvis Costello, Toto, and A Taste of Honey.  Look at those names, and look at their careers.   Costello, the Cars and Toto went on to have big hits, become household names, and influence millions of bands and record buyers.  And the winner that year was…A Taste Of Honey, a disco band that had one hit and went nowhere afterward.

My point is this–you killed off Lisa so you could get an award.  It didn’t happen.  Acknowledge this and move on.  A Taste of Honey still has their award, but Elvis Costello wrote, and continues to write, great songs that will speak forever.  Both Toto and the Cars made hits that you can find on the radio every day of the year.

You could give it a shot, Mr. Batiuk.  Throw the past away.  Shred that letter from the Pulitzer committee.  Move on.

And, if you’re going to move on, please kill Les Moore.  Your fans would love that.  A LOT.  I mean, it would require re-tooling the strip into something positive, but then…are you Toto, or A Taste of Honey?  Because that’s the real question.

Blightmare

Link to today’s strip.

Here’s something I like about today’s strip.  No, it’s not the idiotic word-play.  It’s not the artwork, the falling leaves, or the grotesque slab of Les’ greasy hair in panel two.  (Seriously, look at that.  I mean, we all want him to melt in agony, yet here it is and it isn’t any fun at all!)

No, what I like are the expressions in panel three.  Those are three of the most bitter, most miserable people in the world.   Even the guy who’s delivering the pun doesn’t look pleased with himself–he looks as if he’s really loathing himself for having to do this.

What we see here are three people realizing that they are mere toys in the hands of an angry god, and they must dance for his pleasure or burn.  They have one freedom left:  the freedom not to smirk at a pun.  They can withhold their approval in this one thing without fear of annihilation.

No wonder both Les and Cayla envy Les’ dead wife.  Even though the dead can never rest, they can’t die again. either.

Of course, Les’ expression in panel three is typical of him when someone else delivers wordplay.  It just galls him when someone beats him to the punline.  I recall Barry Balderman’s remark about “Life is like masking tape, the more you use, the less you have” (or whatever he said).  Les’ face then was just Boy do I hate you.  Boy do I hate you.  Lisadamnit, I’m supposed to do the clever stuff. 

Given what passes for “clever” in these parts, I suspect most cast members would be happy to pass it off to Les.  “Happy” being the completely wrong word, of course….

Long Arm of the Lawn

Link to today’s strip.

Or, even better, Long Yarn of the Yawn.

I remember reading Dick Tracy years ago, and a retired police chief had opened a gardening supply store named Lawn Order.  I thought that was pretty clever, as puns go.

This?  This isn’t clever.  I bet there are hundreds of tree-care folks who use this as an actual slogan.  In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me at all of Tom Batiuk was driving around, spotted this on the side of a truck, and thought Well, there’s a daily strip right there.

I don’t know what is more sad.  That Tom Batiuk did twenty years of gag-a-day strips, and thirty years of bland garbage, or that he actually thinks those thirty years are what will constitute his fame.

(Yes, in the “thirty years” I’m including from now to March, 2022.  That’s the only endpoint left here.)