Tag: Central Park

Bleaky Friday

More of the black void that is a Westview winter night in today’s strip, where Mason is obligated to answer a telephone call from his agent. Mason’s agent, “Rip”, quickly remembers that Mason is out of town, possibly in one of those mysterious time zones out east where people are huddled next to their heaters and catching Letterman’s monologue while he’s still laying on the beach getting a tan. I like how Mason hums a little tune before telling Cindy “Sorry, it’s my agent…” I assume that’s what is happening, I mean, the two things share a dialogue box.

Mason’s punchline, such as it is, rings pretty hollow when you consider that “last century” ended all of 15 years ago. When the last (20th) century was the current century, references to the “last century” were typically idyllic and wholly unrealistic nostalgia about the Victorian era and the Gay Nineties. With the gazebo looming in the background, this seems to be what Mason’s line is going for. After all, the 20th century was when TB’s frame of mind for such references was formed.

Then again, perhaps Mason does indeed mean that Westview reminds him of the 20th century’s “Gay X-treme! Nineties”, what with the town’s continued interest in VCRs, Toyota Paseo “Batiukmobiles”, and unfounded comic book price speculation. I imagine he’ll be disappointed when he learns that everyone in town threw out their “Ross for Boss” buttons, Zubaz pants, and Pogs years ago… Or did they?

Where the sidewalk should have ended

Today’s strip sees Mason and Cindy continuing the evening stroll they began yesterday, traversing Westview’s snow-covered central square park with its trademark gazebo. Despite the implications from the past couple of strips that he has a thing for Cindy, Mason reveals his real interest is not her but the town of Westview itself. Yes, Westview is definitely a change from Hollywood’s economic opportunity and operating post office.

With Westview reminding him so much of his hometown, one can only guess where Mason grew up. Centralia, Pennsylvania is a good bet.

Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a parkbench quietly…


After a whirlwind week in the Big City, the old friends sit on their park bench like bookends…and bitch and moan about life. Please explain, if you can: who are the “greedy, amoral morons” who have ruined Funky’s life? It was barely two years ago that he was the cover boy for Pizza World magazine. Now his empire is down to just one store. And the reader is expected to believe that this is the fault of anyone besides the inept, ill-tempered, unlikeable jerk whose cost-cutting, penny-pinching management style ran the business into the ground?

Or maybe said “morons” are really those who hate on TB’s Pulitzer-worthy “writing”? It isn’t the first time that the author has used his strip to take us Philistines to task…

"Oh, is this yours?"

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billytheskink
April 15, 2010 at 9:01 am
I really hope this week doesn’t end with Apple Annie giving Les that lost manuscript and him being happy about it.

Merry Pookster
April 16, 2010 at 9:00 am
[A]ny bets on Apple Annie giving Les his lost manuscript in the next couple of days.

O.B. Dan
April 17, 2010 at 1:14 am
Annie hands it over to Les, who is so amazed and delighted he forgets to punch the bitch’s lights out for holding back on it so long.

April 18, 2010: the day that Funky Winkerbean completely lost any sembelance of linear, logical storytelling, and in the process sent a big “kiss my ink-stained ass” valentine to us, the readers.

Oh no she didn’t: By the way, here’s the manuscript you lost. I have been holding onto it lo, these many years. Sorry, but the last four chapters are missing; I used ‘em for asswipe. Bam, closure. The rest of the panel is taken up with little vignettes supposed to fill us readers in on the whole entire chain of events from the last ten years. Except, I thought that’s what the last three days’ strips were doing. Now the reader is expected to sort thru these postage-stamp size scenes and put them in order.

So Crankshaft did spend some time living on the streets? He sure looks it, as Summer Less pointed out. Where are his huge glasses? What clue is he getting from seeing Annie’s bio in a Playbill that must be 25 to 40 years old? Did Fallen Star get published (we see a hardcover copy), attributed to Les, making Annie a successful agent without her client ever knowing about it? Is this not the laziest, most inept, slapdash attempt at storytelling the comics have ever seen? Batiuk (and you too, Armstrong) present to the readers this steaming, senseless mess of a story, and the readers are expected to grin thankfully, just as Les does when he finally gets his stolen masterpiece handed back to him.

Park Bench to Penthouse

“That’s right, Mr. Les: Woody Allen! And Elia Kazan, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott effin’ Fitzgerald…Billy Wilder, too! Who do ya think gave him that line ‘All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up’? Apple Annie Apple, tha’s who.” Les: she was suffering from schizophrenia, detached from the real world. Crazy as a rat in a coffee can. The closest thing to a writer that she “made the acquaintance of” was you, you gullible bastard.

And not for nothing, according to this strip from last May, I thought it was superstar Cynthia Summers who rescued Annie from life on the streets?