SosfDavidO here! Sorry about today’s snoozer, I didn’t know we were going to be forced to go back to history class. Still, learning things about the early days of rock and roll beats being in a small room with Les and Ghost Wife or being stuck with Creepy John or Mopey Pete.
Today’s strip is like watching wallpaper dry. Why are we here? How is this advancing the strip at all? Who are half these people, and why should we even care?!
Ah, comic strips about young people! SoSfdavidO here just loves them. Does anyone know of any they can point me to? Because from the looks of today’s strip we’re veering dangerously back into Crankshaft’s turf again.
In any case, so someone can get *some* pleasure out of today’s strip, here’s the song in question. It’s actually a rather enjoyable jaunty number.
If Carl’s breathing apparatus in yesterday’s strip was some kind of sympathy ploy, it didn’t seem to help him sell any candy. Today Carl’s traded his nasal cannula for his horn, and is looking a little more chipper and a little less prone to drop dead at any second. Not only does that bastard Dinkle force them to peddle “Raisin’ the” bars to finance their CD, the Manorisms rehearsals have been known to last well past the typical nursing home bedtime. I don’t think medical marijuana is strictly legal yet in Ohio; in any case I think Iris and the boys would need something a little stronger to put up with Dinkle.
If yesterday’s strip depicting Mort and his walker (hey! Mort Walker!) going door to door to sell candy yesterday was not heartbreaking enough, here’s poor Carl pushing around his oxygen tank. Anyone opening their door to this sight would be overcome pity, but this Westview resident is fed up after years of Dinkle’s interminable fundraisers and decides she’s gonna take it out on Carl. “Whopperjawed” sounded to me like some kind of Willy Wonka reference (think “everlasting gobstopper“), but according to Google it’s a word meaning “crooked or askew”. Between the nonsensical punchline and the cruelty of sending nursing home residents out to hawk candy, this is FW at its unfunniest.
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.
Son of Stuck Funky 
