Cody and Owen – Page 8 – Son of Stuck Funky

It’s What’s For Lunch

Well, I figured last week’s light-hearted, rather positive view wouldn’t last. Still, it was fun while it lasted. It may never happen again, but the fact that it did means that it might.

Today, the joke has been done before and better in this same strip. I think it was done just a couple of months ago, though the “better” didn’t come into play then.

I’m not sure what else there is to say; the only personality these students have tends to be somewhat loathsome, so I can’t really sympathize with their plight. If there’s anyone in whose corner I find myself, it’s the lunch-lady, once again having to deal with these cement-heads.

I thought Glasses (I can’t remember who’s who) was supposed to be the smarter of the two, so I’m puzzled by his use of the word “landed.” Is there a food fight going on, with various flying objects zizzing around? Does he think erasers are self-propelled, or that they’re manned by a tiny crew of aliens? What the heck is a “cheese square” anyway–does the cafeteria just drop a brick of cheese onto a plate and say “There you go”? Actually, I imagine that’s exactly what they do in the cafeteria since they hate these kids. Everyone hates these kids.

Well, my time in the torture chamber is over and done, so please welcome David O as your new dungeon master, starting tomorrow!

If You Give A Louse A Cookie

Link to today’s strip.

Well, Owen, considering the fact that you’ve been in “high school” for close to a decade, now, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you were just in kindergarten only this morning. Perhaps Westview High is constructed as a series of “grades” wherein all the students go from a kindergarten class (at 8AM), through high school’s junior year (at 3:30PM), day after day, year after year, in some bizarre ritual that guarantees no knowledge of anything other than comic books. Why not? After all, what would an education gain these folks? The best they can hope for is to work in Montoni’s. No wonder the army looked like a far better goal to Cory.

Lest we forget, you really have to hate these characters (he said rhetorically). Owen gives blood–as a voluntary act, mind you, one for which he expects no payment other than a missed class–and rather than feel good about this, he complains about a cookie. Look at him, he’s so dispirited he can’t even ask Tom Petty for his autograph.

Bloodholes

Link to today’s strip.

Here’s an example of a strip that could have been written anytime within the last eighty years, and published randomly during that same time-frame…and probably has, by some other, better comic strip. It’s not funny, but at least it’s not full of all those Nixon jokes that Batiuk thinks are so hilarious.

Since this strip takes place in Westview, (“Where Dreams Come To Die”–city motto), it’s pretty obvious that the school gathers blood not for hospitals, but so it can sell it to medical laboratories. Those labs then inject the blood, which is almost pure carcinogen, into various bunnies, puppies and kitties so that, for the benefit of all mankind, someday, someday, Les Moore will be able to write another book.

Since this is Funky Winkerbean and this week has been far more boring than usual, I like to think that the bloodmobile isn’t some ambulance that drives around so a medical technician can take a pint from each person. No, I like to think the car (which is perhaps sentient) is covered with syringe-tipped tentacles, that it drives around way over the speed limit, running to trap its screaming victims, and that once they’re caught, it takes almost every drop of blood, leaving the victim just enough to stay conscious so he can watch while the car, laughing, pours the collected blood into the storm drain. How’s that for Le Sentence d’Batiuk?

Then I imagine the car parks somewhere down a dark alleyway, where it waits patiently for the next blood drive. Soon. It will be soon.

That’s how I sleep at night.

Refutation of Kant’s Categorical Imperitive

Link to today’s strip.

It’s interesting (and instructive) to note that in today’s episode, there are several breaks with Winkerbeanean orthodoxy, which in this instance challenge the commonly-held notion that the Funkyverse is a closed system. Specifically, one notes Wedgeman’s impromptu coinage of Neeks juxtaposed with Owen’s expression noting a possible increased range (in a strictly functional sense, of course) of Wedgeman’s role beyond the brutish habitue of Westview’s cafeteria. One could, perhaps, extend this newfound role into the football field as well (“rivals” and “enemies” becoming “renemivals”, eg–a formation typically Batiukian), except that Tom Batiuk has prematurely curtailed such an exploration by having Wedgeman banned from sport (see: SoSF, 10/21-27). In any case, the possibilities (however slight) of expansion are indeed hinted here.

However, it should be noted en passant that Wedgeman’s mere production of a portmanteau cannot be ex facto evidence of heretofore unsuspected intellectual capacity, as the portmanteau phenomenon is more a function of language qua language and as such can be seen as removing “language” from the underlying “meaning” it is intended to convey, appropriating words as merely a series of connected ur-sounds to be arranged without regard to communicative function. Thus, Wedgeman’s new role would seem to be more of the nature of a random element, one designed to decrease the comfort-levels of the characters as they interact within their limited confines, and thus, increase narrative in oblique directions; but then one must recall that “randomness” as a plot element (as opposed to a decorative one) is strictly forbidden within the Funkyverse due to the nature of the construct. I feel certain you are as disappointed as I at the realization of this aspect, and I regret having to voice this argument, as it furthers the angst elements of the entire “Funky critique” positioning, while duly embracing the futility argument advanced by T.Batiuk (see notes)*.

As an aside, one has to note with approval the sheer exuberant gusto with which Wedgeman expresses the (self) enjoyment of his coinage, offering as it does an unexpected, unbridled joyousness at his achievement. Such expressions are exceedingly rare in the Funkyverse, and one must applaud their occasional appearance, even if they grace the nominally villainous.

On the other hand, “neeks” is totally dumbheaded and dope-like, and hardly worthy of such celebration. It is the very definition of dumbheaded. Dumbheaded like a bag of towels.

*Due to a misplaced comma, the notes were not included by the typesetter, who offers this note in recompense: “You suck. I hate you. PS I quit.”

Secret Origins of Super Villains

Link to today’s strip.

I’m going to skip the dialogue in today’s episode, mostly because it’s just too stupid to acknowledge. What interests me most is the lunch lady’s face in panel three. That face simply screams That’s it. I quit. I refuse to listen to this kind of crap, from these sub-morons. I’m going back to being a greeter at Sprawl-Mart.

That, my friends, is the face of someone who has just been defeated by the Super-Friends for the second time…meaning that they have now chosen evil as a career. The Super-Friends thwart you the first time, well, you probably just had a bad break in your life and took to crime to feed the family. The second time around, though, means you’ve picked evil because you like evil. And you’re already preparing your third crime…revenge, against those Super-Fools!