January 1, 2018 at 9:44 am
Why does it have to be a stupid acronym like ARID? Why not just use the real AA? You could publicize an organization that has actually done some good.
I suspected ARID’s clubhouse might be another Real Place in Ohio. When I Googled “ARID twelve and twelve,” the first result linked to a very outdated site, hosted at tripod.com and apparently the work of someone with a serious axe to grind with Alcoholics Anonymous. I won’t bother linking to it, out of my personal respect for AA and other twelve step programs (which the “ARID Site” dismisses as “recovery cultism”). A little more searching turned up the “Akron Arid Club”, an AA group which according to the Beacon Journal closed in 2011. The location still can be seen in Google Street view; other than being made of bricks, the building bears no resemblance to Monday’s exterior.
Now that we’ve cleared that up…Funky frets that his son and prospective daughter-in-law, two Army vets who met while clearing landmines in Afghanistan, may have difficulty dealing with today’s political climate. He should be more concerned about Cigarette Guy, whose plume of smoke threatens to cloud the whole room.
Link to today’s strip.
I hope none of you are fans of the blues or rockabilly, because you’re about to watch the things you enjoy become tainted with Harry Dinkle, and you’ll never get any pleasure from them again. I’m guessing Batiuk took a vacation to Memphis recently, and we’re all going to pay.
I don’t know what kind of a monster that is in panel one, but it appears to be wearing Mort Winkerbean’s skin. What godawful drawing–Burchett should be ashamed. Contrast that with Dinkle’s face in panel two–he gets the full “handsome” treatment, as well as a little action whip-around.
By slicing out a quarter of Mort’s face–
–he actually looks like a person. I’d like to think that Burchett drew him more like this, and Batiuk said “Damn it, Burchett, how dare you draw any character other than Les, Dinkle and Lisa as a normal human being!! I want all those sons-o-bitches looking like a non-human monster! Just like all the women should be fat and frowsy with Muppet faces!!! Do you like getting paid?! Cut it up and do it over!!”
What a loathsome thing Dinkle is–as I’ve said way too many times, of all the cast in this miserable comic, Dinkle is the one I hate the most. He always triumphs, he’s always praised, and always beloved. He’s one of the reasons this strip will never be noteworthy.
Sosfdavido here, and whaddya know, what looked like a pudgy, older white guy finally turns around to reveal a pudgy, older white guy! Now even Tombat’s most rabid fans are scratching their heads and checking the archives to see if the guy rendered fairly lifelike in today’s panel 3 was actually a character or someone pulled out of thin air.
Given the level of detail compared to most of the melting-dough faced citizens of Westview I’m betting it’s yet another character based on an actual person. Whether said person is thrilled to be depicted in such a bleak comic is a whole other matter.
Linda, in panel 2, meanwhile, looks like she just got interrupted in the middle of a 2 day nitrous oxide binge. He could have introduced himself as Mr. Ed the Talking Horse and she’d probably be just as non-plussed.
Members of any band under the baton of “Noble” laureate Harry Dinkle are compelled to support the enterprise by going door to door peddling turkeys, books, and that sweet, sweet Belgian chocolate. Even a member who uses a walker and who several years ago couldn’t recognize his own son.
I don’t know about you, but man, RB’s art is still giving me the heebie jeebies. Today it’s that second panel, where Linda is looking right at us with her beady eyes, beady eyebrows, and weird bottom teeth. Her shoulders and elbows are all weird, undulating contours…don’t her arms appear bony? And there’s a ominous, diagonal black shadow behind her: why? And when did she start wearing her ID badge so prominently? Detective Lopez of the Westview PD.
Trying to get a driver’s license under an assumed name is no joke these days. If Fat Les really thinks that’s what’s going on here, he should calmly ask “Funky Winkerbean” to wait right here please and then summon the authorities. And assuming Funky’s got his expired license with him, he doesn’t need to produce his birth certificate or anything else beside the $25.75 renewal fee. This is just payback to Funky for busting BMV Guy’s chops. And it’s working: instead of another wry retort, all Funky can muster is sputtering, Crankshaft-like indignation.
Today we observe that rarest of instances in the Funkiverse: our hero, subjected to the withering disdain of a functionary of the state, gains the upper hand by delivering a well-timed, snarky zinger of his own. Funky knows it, too; dig his expression in panel 3: the arched eyebrow and the entirely appropriate sardonic smirk.
I’m going to let this one pass. Feel free, the rest of you, to have at it.