By this point, the postal clerk is just cracking himself up with all the P.O. bashing. I’m surprised at Darin having the foresight to purchase a “bunch” of stamps. He’s denying himself future opportunities to stand in line and bitch about all the “old people.”
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August 3, 2018:
Today’s strip and this week’s arc continue to practically mirror those of last August. Again, for those of you who’ve recently started reading Funky Winkerbean: even given FW’s elastic, nonsensical reckoning of time, Darin Fairgood has got to be at least forty years old, which many would consider “young” (certainly younger than me). But it’s unlikely that his presence at a postal counter would raise any eyebrows. What the hell’s with the 72-year-old Batiuk’s contempt for old people, the post office, and old people at the post office? Anyway, I happen to think that “a wallet that has a change purse” sounds pretty cool, and clearly, Darin thinks so too.
Having satisfied her simian sexual appetites, as well as getting in a “bonding moment” with her child, Jessica has hastened back to L.A.—the world must not be made to wait any longer for that very important Butter Brinkel documentary! She’s probably been back in town barely long enough to unpack her suitcase; long enough to compel Darin to show his “caring” by sending her a package. Rather, “one of” his packages, which suggests this is a thing with him. Batiuk persists in depicting Darin and Jessica as these two starry eyed, young sweethearts, tragically kept apart by their respective, oh-so-important careers.
Linda continues to kvetch about the negative impact that Bull’s condition will have on her retirement plans. I guess it’s a quarter inch from reality that someone faced with having to care for a partner in declining health is entitled to feel bad and complain. It sure makes for a depressing “comic” strip though. Does Linda have any other friends in whom she can confide, aside from Les, who until this week has demonstrated zero concern for the well being of his old tormentor and tennis partner?
“You usually think of CTE just happening to professional football players, not washed up, never was-es like your husband.” “I know, right?” Batiuk’s already wringing plenty of pathos from the CTE uh, “epidemic.” Today he ups the ante with a shot at health care costs. He even has Linda assume the broke Mr. Monopoly “Pay Poor Tax of $15” stance for effect. Bull was around the NFL long enough to have a cup of coffee, but he went on to be a teacher, coach, and AD for about three decades. He may not be flush, but is better prepared than many to deal with a health crisis.
“When I told Bull I was going to introduce him, it really showed what a crappy friend I am, just making major decisions for Bull and not even giving him any input. I mean, I am his friend, right? That’s the word for a guy who just starts showing up at your house after you get CTE and spends a lot of one-on-one time with your wife? Where’s that dweeby English teacher whose annoying wife died, maybe he can tell his what the right word for that is. Oh, right, he didn’t show up, because apparently I’m the only one in Bull’s life who gives a crap about him. Like when I lied to him to make him think he won a game he actually lost. Gosh, good thing that never came up in any awkward situation later on.”