Speech to Text

Link to today’s strip.

The signs are in; this is going to be a s-l-o-o-o-w week.  Today we have another sit-com level gag, although I think even the laugh-track would refuse to perform for this one.

I can see how this one was constructed–Holly’s last line is supposed to be the punchline, and Batiuk just worked backward from there (assuming I can use the word “worked”).  But Funky’s dialogue in panel one, and particularly the emphasized word “you” seems to imply that Funky’s the one doing all the texting, while Holly’s riposte–again with “you” emphasized–implies that she’s been doing all the texting.  Which is it?

I mean, if you cannot establish a simple premise (who does all the texting) in a single comic strip without stepping all over said premise, well, then it’s no wonder continuity, character and history are such a tangled, unaddressed mess in this strip.

I do appreciate the attempt at humor, though.  It’s not funny, but the fact that there’s a joke lurking in here is at least an improvement worth acknowledging.

Mr. Lucky

Link to today’s strip.

Greetings, folks, BChasm back in the control room.  Many thanks to Comic Book Harriet for excellent guest hosting the last two weeks.  Well done.

As for today’s strip, yeah, I do feel lucky.  The last few hosts have had to feast on stupid comic book schemes, Les’ eternal book tour or Pete’s love life; today I get one of the few characters in this strip that I don’t want to strangle, Funky himself.  (Though with Funky’s life outlook, he’d probably beg me to.)

Don’t misunderstand me, he’s not a good character, but compared to the rest of the cast he’s a positive breath of fresh Spring air.  His main drawback is his insistence on viewing everything in the most negative light possible, which gets very tiresome, but at least he’s not coasting on a giant cloud of (unearned) smugness, convinced of the magnificence of his (nonexistent) talent.

Anyway, what do we have today?  Holly wants to micromanage the Cory/Rocky wedding, and Cory refuses to comply.  Myself, I thought they were already married but, considering that unless the subject is comic books or Les Moore, Tom Batiuk cannot be bothered, I’ll assume they aren’t.

I don’t seem to have much to say here.  I guess I’m just too relieved that we’re spared more comic books and/or Les.

Trouble in Purgatory.

Link to Today’s Comic.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. What a way to end a shift of guest writing. I was all excited when the endless arc of comic book nonsense had finally sputtered out. And I would have been completely content if we didn’t see Darin or Mopey Pete again anytime soon.

Instead we get this nonsensical glurge, in a extra drawn out Sunday nonsense-fest. First Mindy practices horrible robot dialogue while preparing to show Pete some more sexy pics.

Then it takes her five plus panels to actually get her phone unlocked. And Pete is not only an annoying douche, he doesn’t even know how annoying and douchey he is.

Or he DOES know, and somehow pissing Mindy off is the hottest turn on for him. Look at that last panel. That is one horrible Charlie Brown grin lusting over a frigid block of annoyance.

Beckoning Chasm is up to bat starting tomorrow. Good luck buddy! Who wants to guess that our trip to the book fair was just a brief reprieve from the Atomik Komix Nuclear Winter?

Fukushima Kamakrazee

Link to Today’s Comic.

Remember Mad Max, Fury Road? Boy that was a great movie! And now I’m never going to be able to watch the War Boys chant without thinking of Funky Winkerbean. Thanks a lot Tom!

Time to compare Crankshaft with Funky Winkerbean again. Wanted to see which strip is more unbelievable.

In Crankshaft, there is an entire gym in a small town devoted to muscly men teaching young mothers dangerous illegal ways to get mowed down by traffic. Today, a woman is able to hold on to the bumper of a 13 ton school bus as it drives away

In Funky Winkerbean, Les Moore tells us he has an editor.

Funky Winkerbean is the more unbelievable strip by a country mile.

A Broken Watch is Funny Once a Year.

n Link to Today’s Comic.

Although I’ve been happily tearing this strip a new one over the past couple weeks, I think it helps keep me fair and honest to make sure I leave my mind open to actually enjoying the occasional strip. And today’s strip is one of the best in a very very long time.

As I said yesterday, I don’t hate Miss Mackenzie. I know she had a story about her sister with Alzheimers that painted the poor old biddy in a very harsh light, but other than that the lady has become one of the more active characters in the current Funkyverse! She has goals that she thought up herself that she actually works to achieve. No one called her up to hand her a series of unwarranted writing jobs via the Central Ohio Nepotism Mafia. She’s not passively falling into a job at a business or school she used to frequent in her adolescence because she literally is incapable of growth.

Between Cliff Anger, Lillian, and the Bedside Manorisms, Batiuk keeps leaning on an obsession with the success of the elderly. I attribute most of this to the fact that Tom is 70 years old. 70! He writes both 50 and 90 as similarly decrepit AND capable, because he’s trying to convince himself that he’s still pretty much late middle aged, AND that old age isn’t some terrible impotent decade where nothing new can be created or enjoyed. It’s a fine enough sentiment, hardly the most toxic or offensive of his hangups.

And I’ll give it to him. Fear of aging is real, and if writing about little old ladies scoring it big in the writing world helps, then great.

Because it gets us to today’s wonderful strip! Where Les Moore is gazing in envy at Ms. Mackenzie’s line of fans, all smiling, reading, and discussing. And Ms Mackenzie not only rubs it in his face, she knows she’s Betty White levels of nonagenarian sex appeal and flaunts it. She also thinks that Les has grown flaccid enough moobs to create cleavage. And also that the only thing that could possibly generate interest in his horrible books is if he prostituted his pasty white, flabby, androgynous body to the niche of Paul Giamatti stalkers that frequent Ohio bookfairs.