What could cap this story arc any better than today’s strip?
It was never about Marianne, cyberbullying, suicide, or Hollywood vanity… it was always about Mason’s sainthood, as it were. Cindy’s rampant insecurity (on display again today, if winked at) serves to highlight Mason’s good nature for sticking with her. Marianne’s freak out happened largely to provide contrast to Mason’s unfazed reaction to internet criticism. Mr. Director’s and the police’s failure to locate Marianne? What do you think…
Yes, what better way to top off a whole two weeks devoted to building up Saint Mason than with Saint Mason taking Cindy out for a snazzy Southern California Christmas experience? He’s pretty great, huh?
On a brighter note, I would like to sincerely wish all of our commenters and readers (you too TB) a Merry Christmas and wonderful holiday season.
Please don’t spend too much of your valuable Christmas Eve time reading today’s strip. Please.
That Mason fella sure is great, huh? Marianne and Cindy sure think so. In fact, Cindy finds it hard to believe that Mason even exists. I’m with her on this point, as Mason appears today to be some sort of mythical human-unicorn chimera.
But what about Mr. Director? You know, the guy who first noticed the DMZ story and the potential trouble it could cause… The guy who made sure a corrected story was sent out to the media within hours… The guy who was concerned about Marianne to the point that he tried to call and text message her while Mason and Cindy groused about the internet’s big meanies… The guy convinced the police to put out an APB for a woman that had been out of contact for less than half a day… What about him?
Eh… That Mason fella sure is great, huh?
What the hell is in that bottle? I thought Funky only “toasted” with real toast these days. Well, the last strip of 2015 will certainly lend credence to the “Tom Batiuk is trolling the hate-readers” theory. Why else would he have the titular character grinningly offer such a grim salutation, even ironically? And if Funky is trying to be funny, he’s the only one in on the joke; everyone else looks either surprised or dismayed.
To be fair, Funky’s entitled to his gloomy outlook. After all, Les has his inflated ego and submissive wife to indulge him. Crazy Harry’s underemployed and loving it. This year, Darin, Pete and Cindy all lucked into exciting careers on the West Coast, and Cindy (Funky’s ex-wife) is engaged to a movie star. Cory Winkerbean’s back stateside and is also planning to get hitched. Bull’s Scapegoats enjoyed a perfect football season. The only arcs involving Funky dealt with his sending Montoni’s band box out to be repaired, and having him relive the Montoni’s bowling team’s victory (a decade ago) over Crankshaft’s team. The rest of his life consists of running the pizza parlor, jogging with smug Les, chauffeuring Cory to and from the airport, doctor visits, and humiliation at the hands of his personal trainer. Our slow shuffle to oblivion indeed. Pick up the pace there, Funkman.
Well, dear friends, as 2015 draws to a close, please accept once again my well wishes on behalf of the team. Cheers and Happy New Year!
What began as a “Les Tries to Write Something” arc turns out to be nothing more than a year-end strip dump of leftover gags. We’re transported (or transposed, to use a musical term, ah=HAH!) from Moore Manor to Dinkle’s Den, where we behold the miracle of a deaf man enjoying music.
December 21, 2015 at 9:35 pm
Is Dinkle and Harriet (w/violin) now living there?
I had been wondering about the plump little lady violinist too. It’d be nice to see Harriet supporting her husband’s interests (in other ways besides “putting out” for him). But alas, a check of the archives turns up this strip from last June in which in which Dinkle comes home to Harriet after rehearsing the band.
It sure took long enough, but today it finally occurs to Dinkle just how far from the big time he has fallen. The director whose band once marched in the Tournament of Roses Parade, the author and autobiographer, the egomaniac who envisioned his band marching from his giant, inflatable head, must spend this Christmas conducting for an audience of one.
I mentioned yesterday how Mort Winkerbean’s mental acuity has vastly improved since he’s been in the home. But lately it’s Batiuk’s mind that’s got me worried: is it mere laziness or encroaching senility that produces what passes for jokes around here these days? This must be a repurposed Scapegoat marching band gag. Dinkle’s disparaged his musical proficiency before, so I gather Mort hasn’t the chops to handle first trombone. But…”a third trombonist” joining the band? Mort’s the only trombonist, regardless of which part he’s playing. Would another trombonist automatically promoted to first chair, bumping Mort to third?