Cody – Page 11 – Son of Stuck Funky

Bloodholes

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!

With a Fried Egg on Top And Spam

Link to today’s strip.

Geez, Owen…in Westview, insulting someone’s sarcastic ability is like slapping them with a glove, or yelling personal remarks about their ancestry. Pistols at dawn; bring your second! By insulting the lunch lady, she’s honor-bound to respond and you’ll be lucky if you only find yourself fishing your filthy hippie hat out of your casserole, rather than your whole head. (At the very least the lunch lady should nail your head to the floor.)

Sarcasm is the very lifesblood of the citizens of Westview. It is valued more than money. The only more holy aspiration is the pun, and this lady’s memorized recitation already shows that she prepares well enough to challenge anyone in any of the Westview arts.

Besides, who wouldn’t want to see Owen punched out by a little old lady? I know I would. Heck, I’d set up a stand and sell tickets. The souvenir program book would outsell Fallen Star on eBay by a wide margin.

Surprise Surprise

Greetings, folks, BChasm back for another tour in the trenches. And what is on the menu for today (see what I did there)?

Someone less kind than myself might note that the dialogue in panel 3 perfectly fits Tom Batiuk’s method of constructing a comic strip. After all, while the particular events in Funky Winkerbean can’t always be foreseen, certainly none of outcomes for any of the stories is ever in doubt–it’ll end in tears, or, more likely, a weary shrug, a tired scowl and a terrible pun. You can say that about every story presented in the last few years; notice that I’ve written two paragraphs already without a single mention of the characters involved in today’s comic. This paragraph could serve as a perfectly generic yet perfectly accurate summation of every strip, every day.

Having said all that, I’d like to say that Funky Winkerbean is actually quite full of surprises. There have been many events over the last couple of years that were completely and totally out of the blue–Crazy Harry losing his job, Kevin having moved on, Kerry Fairgood, the reappearance of Alex, Frankie’s return, Khahn’s store closing, and so on.

The problem, as you’ve already guessed, is that none of these surprises are handled in an interesting manner. At all. Kerry Fairgood appeared and disappeared over the course of a week. Impact on the strip: zero point zero. Frankie’s weeks-long arc was one long stretch of nothing happening. Franklyn Simpson Pierce…has no strip impact.

I guess what I’m ultimately saying is, go ahead and eat your glop, Owen and Cody. Nothing will happen to you as a result.

Funny how the whole rationale behind getting rid of the vendos was so that the students would eat better, healthier food, and look at the unappealing bilge piled on that plate! Ha ha, it’s funny because school lunches.

Lack of surprising things happening isn’t Funky Winkerbean‘s problem. Having a surprise that has an impact on the strip…now, that would be a surprise.