Prepare to re-enter the Funkyverse. Return all brains to the “off” position
Ho-ho-ho! Take THAT, airline industry! Always nickle and diming the hell out of the little guy, amirite? Luggage, peanuts, oxygen…is there anything those vultures don’t charge you for these days? Why I remember back in the day when flying was fun and glamorous and the sexy stewardesses would hand out food, booze, smokes and candy like it was candy…back before technology stole our souls and turned us into a nation of chullo-wearing….(zzzzzzzzzz).
Ooops, drifted off there. Yeah, it’s probably not the worst FW gag ever (as if) and the always objectionable Dinkle doesn’t say anything or contort his face into an obnoxious cackle, so there’s that. It’s pretty rare, so savor it.
Coming on Monday (minor spoilers): A distraught Becky stumbles into band practice. A student reminds her to sterilize her trombone mouthpiece.
“Band Director For Life Harry Dinkle’s plane was shot down over a large pig feces retention pond in North Carolina. It spun in…there were no survivors.”
Click here to find the fruit
Well, he’s resuming one of FW’s twenty thousand dangling plot threads, so that’s something. Unfortunately, though, it’s this one. Dinkle and his perpetually-ignored wife are traveling to Belgium to cash in big-time on Dinkle’s outrageous WHS band candy scam, but unfortunately for both Harry is a complete imbecile whose devotion to marching bands has left him totally unable to perform simple everyday tasks like a regular person. And because this is FW and he’s dealing with a government agency (at the airport no less), incompetence, annoyances and non-stop hassles are in store for everyone…including FW readers…assuming there are any, of course.
Just as he’s outstayed his welcome around the halls of Westview High, Dinkle has lingered way too long in Funky Winkerbean, Act III. I’d supposed Harry went around giving “band candy motivational speeches” to fellow music educators or Becky’s current students simply as a way to keep busy, but it turns out he’s a compensated shill for Big Chocolate. He rushes home to share his big news with his wife Harriet (we must assume that’s Harriet, though she now looks like a 53 year old, instead of someone who’s been married 53 years).
This is your captain SoSfDavidO speaking as we approach LAX, I’d like to warn you I’ll be your snarker for the next two weeks! In other words, comedy turbulence ahead!
It looks like the famous duo of Pete and Darin are flying “Back Home” in today’s strip to the Bojack Horseman multiverse where the Hollywood sign lost the D.
Yep, they’re a real power couple, aren’t they? Judging from the fact they’re practically sitting in each others laps and the classic, cheap pube-hair upholstery on their seats, I’d venture they’re flying coach.
But hey, they’re home! Darin makes no mention of the wife and baby, wherever those plot devices are. We’ll probably see them again at Thanksgiving and Christmas and only then. You can’t have them cramping these two genius’s lifestyles!
Link to today’s strip
I guess Mason chartered one of those super-low altitude private planes all the hot celebrities are into these days. I mean seriously, the thing is maybe forty feet over Les Moore’s house and judging by the change in the house’s perspective, doing a cool 50 miles an hour or so. Talk about a gratuitously unnecessary detail. Seeing a plane cruising over Moore Manor with no flames or bomb craters in sight is such a tease, man. And wasn’t that stupid tree cut down months ago?
So they’re going to film the SJ “earth scenes” in Cleveland of all places, instead of somewhere better or more practical. Sure they are Tom, sure they are. Mopey Pete is in rare form again today, as now he’s pissing and moaning about having to leave Hollywood, as he sits in a private jet no less. Unbe-f*cking-lievable. And what the hell is Boy Lisa going to say when he pops in on his wife…”hey hon, how was that long economy-class flight with our toddler aged son? Oh, me? Private plane”. A quarter-inch from reality my ass, any real wife would have bailed on the hapless Boy Lisa long ago. And who the hell is Andy and how much of the blame does he deserve?
Link to today’s strip
Yay! Another excuse to ditch the worst, most difficult and most demanding job of them all…writing for comic book characters! Somehow the star of the white-hot (and perpetually unfinished) “Starbuck Jones” feature film “heard” that Jessica and Skyler (who just moved to California a few short months ago) were inexplicably heading to Ohio to visit Skyler’s grandparents. And, incredibly enough, Mason just happens to have a private chartered flight to Ohio this very week! Unbelievable. And quite stupid, too.
So what the hell is this all about? Air travel gags? Fred Fairgood’s always-hysterical mutterings? John Darling? If Mason “heard” that Jessica was visiting Ohio, why didn’t he offer to fly her out there as well? How does he know Jessica and Skyler at all? How can Boy Lisa, who just a few months ago was using garbage as furniture, afford all this air travel back and forth to Westview?
Damned if I know. But apparently it made sense to Batiuk at the time, which of course means nothing, but still. At this rate Mason will be as old and washed up as Cindy is by the time this SJ movie hits the big screen.
Link To Today’s Action
“Reclaim”? Uh yeah Jessica, whatever you say. Boy Lisa’s birthday promise seems a little ominous if you ask me, in my opinion he really ought to be recording all this wisdom “just in case”. I mean you never know when The BanMan might need to drop another shoe, you know? Anyway, that was certainly one of the more uneventful weeks in recent memory, as the characters did nothing but complain and eat pizza. Talk about soporific and pointless.
Check out Jessica’s hair in panel two…ladies and gentlemen, Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider!!! Man, he struggles with her hair even more than he does with Boy Lisa’s nose. It’s kind of difficult to believe that he just wasted an entire week on Jessica bringing pizza to California but then again, not really. And watching these two preparing to kiss is like watching a mother hamster preparing to eat her own babies, yuck.