Son of Stuck Funky

Skipping Out

This week has been a real see-saw for me. Because while Funky himself has been insufferable, and Batiuk deciding to fast track his Act I cast to their late 60’s is just infuriating, Holly has been so darn relatable.

I can’t help it, guys. She just reminds me so much of my mom. There’s not been a single thing she’s said or suggested these past three days that would be out of character for Momma Harriet. From wishing she’d lost weight for a major event, to scoffing at too much nostalgia from high school, to wanting to avoid hours and hours of vaguely remembered former acquaintances pasting on smiles while silently gauging which of them had the most loveless marriage, messiest divorce, or the most messed up grandkids.

I don’t remember the context enough for specifics, but I KNOW my mom has suggested escaping to me while driving to some dreaded social event.

“What if we just kept on going?” She smiles, desperately, trying to psych herself up for a family reunion or wedding of a third cousin’s cousin. “Drive all the way down to your sister’s, and just…hid out?”

Is the choice of the word ‘disillusioned’ weird? Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve seen the way my mom’s face falls when talking about a friend’s divorce, or the profligacy of a young adult she’d nurtured as a child. She’d rather not know that the marriage she’d been a bridesmaid for fell apart after infidelity, or the sweet little girl she taught in Sunday School had to get a restraining order on her meth-ed out baby daddy.

If I’m being nicer to Holly and this strip than it deserves, just know that it’s because all it would take is a brunette wash and a pair of glasses, and Holly morphs into my mom. And I love my mom. And if you knew her, you would love her too. And if you didn’t it would be a clear sign that you are a garbage human forever beyond hope of redemption.

I want to thank BJ6K and anneki for bringing the Washington Post article to our attention yesterday. It was the puffiest of puff pieces. It reminded me of those puff balls in the timber around here. You whack it and release a giant yellow cloud of nonsense.

Everyone had their favorite quotes, but mine had to be when he compared the first time skip to a ‘Road to Damascus’ moment. Because yeah, I’d believe that Batiuk has been struck blind on his creative journey. And now he’s sitting there at home, his eyes covered in scales, with no Ananias of an editor to come and peel his blindness away.

FYI: Cows got out again on Monday morning. They thought our neighbors’ corn looked tastier than the dry grass left in our drought stricken pasture. Fixed the fence AGAIN, gave them some big round bales of hay, and they STILL were all standing by the fence this morning, staring longingly at the green stalks on the other side of the woven wire.

Maybe if we could get some REAL RAIN, and not mother nature spitting in contempt on the dusty cracked ground…

Y’all have been amazing in the comments lately! Love all of you!

WAT?

Wat.

No really. I’m sorry.

But WAT?

I guess August 2022 is the month that Funky Winkerbean decided to try to out dick Les ‘Dickface McSmuggy’ Moore in a dickishness contest.

Because there is NO WAY that high school was more daunting, stressful, confusing, scary, exciting or heart breaking than beating cancer, overcoming alcoholism, surviving a car accident, weathering a divorce, losing a friend to cancer, raising a troubled son, and having a son in the military.

(Notice how only ONE of those things was a positive? For Pete’s Sake, Tom. Lighten up!)

Do we enshrine our high school years? Some of us, yeah. Not all of us, because like Holly said, they’re just FOUR YEARS. For some people they were pretty low key.

I had a pretty good time in high school. I wouldn’t say I ‘enshrine’ it, but I look back on it fondly. I had a group of great friends. I liked 75% of my teachers. I packed my days with extracurriculars. That’s what I miss the most about it. The thing wistfully wish I could get back is being called on to perform and having all of those creative outlets and the buffet of interests to pursue: band, choir, art, drama, sports, FFA.

The people that ‘enshrine’ high school don’t do it because it was the superlative apex of emotional experience. If someone had high school as the most exciting or heart-breaking time in their life, then they died soon after graduation, either literally or figuratively. People recognize high school as a distinct, notable time because it is a liminal period. The border between childhood and adulthood.

For many it’s the last time they’ll put on uniforms, play instruments, have their names on score boards, sing in a choir, and be asked to draw a picture. At the same time, they’re getting a little taste of growing up, dating, driving, spit-balling possible futures at a half-interested guidance counselor.

But after that, they have the rest of their lives.

I’m not married. I don’t have kids. I live in the same town I grew up in. I willingly put hours into writing a Funky Winkerbean snark blog every few months. If anyone is going to pretend High School was the MOSTEST TIME EVAR GUIZE, it’s going to be someone like me. But no. Life since then has been just as much, and often more daunting, stressful, confusing, scary, heart breaking AND exciting. I’ve gone on adventures. I’ve made forever friends. I got a tattoo on my ass. I met Mark Hamill. I kissed my baby nephew’s tiny fingernails and felt him fall asleep on my chest.

Batiuk wrote all kinds of these experiences for Funky and Holly over the last 30 years. The quality of the stories is debatable. But was is objectively true is that MAJOR STUFF HAPPENED.

In one strip, Batiuk is tossing away everything he’s written since 1993, more than half of his entire comics run.

Why did he decide to let the Act I cast graduate?

By allowing my characters to have a time-driven existence, I get to explore everything that flows from that . . . goodness and evil, happiness and sadness, weakness and strength, failure and success, love and grief, youth and age, and the quest for meaning. And the vehicle for all of this is story.
From The Complete Funky Winkerbean Volume 9

But, I guess none of that matters. Since Funky is telling us today that everything explored since then is LESS meaningful, impactful, and exciting than the time these characters spent in high school.

WAT.

Advanced Studies in Tom Batiuk’s Funkology 5.0

CLICK HERE TO SEE HOTTIE BUDD IN A SKIMPY NIGHTGOWN!!!

ComicBookHarriet here, reporting for duty! Ready to tackle whatever twisted bit of nonsense the bloated Diane Keaton look alike in the header presages.

First of all, many kudos to Billy the Skink, for seeing us through some peak Funkyverse navel-gazing. He was able slice these two terrible weeks to their awful core, and do it with twice the jokes and one third the words of my average post.

Please accept this AI generated award in my appreciation for your hard work.

Everyone has gradually noticed a problem with this year; a bland malaise only broken by Les winning an Oscar, a long awaited wedding, and random racism. I couldn’t put my finger on it, since no one week was THAT off the mark from things we’ve seen before. But I think I finally figured it out.

When the 50th anniversary of Funky Winkerbean hit this March we were all stunned that Batiuk let it pass uncommented on in strip. He leads into the day with a week of flashback pandemic grocery shopping and then celebrated the day itself with a nondescript bit of sub-Lockhorns level marital hijinks.

But a few weeks ago I realized this entire year has been, off and on, one big, unspoken, 50th anniversary ‘celebration’. We’ve gotten two times that “Summer Hears About Dead St. Lisa”, the entire Eliminator time travel arc, Batiuk digging out his ancient ecology strips to show off how he’s always been preaching from his soapbox, Dinkle reminiscing about the school computer, Crazy remembering his pizza spinning days, Mary Sue Sweetwater’s funeral, staring at the dry, empty, wreck of the old pool as a huge metaphor for what this strip has become.

Act I reminiscing is as old as Act II. That’s why a single week of this didn’t really stand out.

*1998: Lisa’s groundbreaking tragic past prestige arc being replayed for an encore of backpats? We’ll never see this again.*

But this year we are INUNDATED with it.

And, so far, none of it has had any deeper meaning or purpose other than member.

Batiuk broke his arms patting himself on the back over how he let his characters age, and broke the UNWRITTEN RULE OF COMICS that time is not allowed to pass.

The Second Cartooning Commandment: Thou shalt return to “Go” at the start of each new strip, and your characters shall never grow up.

I refer to this as the “Peter Pan Principal,” and it’s one of the reasons that the newspaper comics have been relegated to the stagnant backwaters of the entertainment industry. Okay, before I continue, I should acknowledge that I’m speaking in the broadest of generalities here and that there have been, and still are, obvious and wonderful exceptions to what I’m about to say. I get that, I accept that, and I don’t care about that. I’m trying to make a point here, and I don’t want the waters muddied with contradictory facts and stuff. Simply put, I had moved my characters into their adult lives and was on a roll with the work collected in this volume as I attempted to plot their futures. Meanwhile, their companions on the comics page were on a roller coaster that returned to the same starting point every day. Every. Day.
From The Complete Funky Winkerbean Volume 9

This has been posted before, maybe even by me, but every time it makes me roll my eyes. Because yeah, maybe Mary Worth, or Dicky Tracey, or Spiderman or Gil Thorpe are always some ambiguous age within an established decade of life that they’re not allowed to progress beyond, but comic book time passes for them. A character from a previous storyline shows up years and years later, and what happened in that previous story is relevant to the plot.

Tommy the Grocery Store Delivery Boy, 2020.

And with that….I have to close. We have cows out over at the Van Fleet Place and I gotta run dad some flashlights.

See yalll tomorrow!

Jumping’ Jack Flashback

Today’s strip was shot in Kodachrome… despite being set even further back in time than this past week’s sepia-toned historical revision. Really sets the mood for imagined fiery death, doesn’t it?

You would (not) be surprised at how often TB goes to the well for Holly’s Act I flaming baton trick. It wouldn’t shock me if it has appeared as a gag in Act III more often than it ever actually did in Act I. But hey, after this past week, I’ll take some Sunday Funky-Holly filler, even if it involves flaming batons.

And with that, I cede the podium to Comic Book Harriet, a master of both Batiukverse history and the entertaining anecdote. I expect we will enjoy a good bit of both from her in the coming weeks.

Credit Fraud

Today’s strip concludes (we hope and pray and hope and wish) this latest visit from the Ghost of Distress Past. Her Royal Wryness. The VHSaint herself.

Special thanks go out to Summer for being a prop with no impact on the story whatsoever, she has already collected her prize of appearing in a full 3 panel strip this week (panels will not necessarily be consecutive).
Special thanks also go out to Les for having such an insatiable ego and such milquetoast friends and family that he will continue to receive the unearned praise he has been given for decades now.
And extra special thanks go out to Crazy Harry, who demanded nothing but 18 panels of our precious time in return for his brilliant idea of pretending Isaac Asimov invented the concept of recording video using already obsolete technology.

On the subject of 18 panels (well, 16, thanks to a couple of 2 panel strips), this new Lisa tapes origin story actually takes up more column inches than the entire original origin story AND depiction of the recording of the tapes! That took just 16 panels in four strips. For all its faults, Act II got to the point…