Christmas – Page 13 – Son of Stuck Funky

You’re the Pitz

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.

Second Fiddle

Merry Pookster
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.

All About (Christmas) Eve

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.

Who’s on First (Trombone)?

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?

Couch Gag

The first impulse is to ring the “Batiuk’s making light of mental illness again” bell. But I think TB’s merely guilty here of employing the old cartoonists’ “psychiatrist cliché” (Google “psychiatrist couch cartoon” to see just how cliché). It was reliable enough schtick when Batiuk’s idol Charles Schulz used it (nearly 60 years ago). Anyway, whatever therapy ol’ Mort derives from this dog, it’s doing wonders! When Funky dumped him in “the home” five years ago, he was practically catatonic. Since then, he’s taken up smoking, has picked up the trombone, and is now nearly indistinguishable from his son.