Tuesday! Where we rush into a plot-line that we’ve literally already seen before. I’m not just just referring to when Darrin was born but in the 600 times his delivery was mentioned in the strip since. I mean, no wonder Darrin is having Deja-Vu about it, how many times has he had to sit through the story of his rush to the hosptial?
Odds that Fred is going to pop out of his medical drama to “help with the delivery” are looking pretty darned high from the looks of today’s strip.
‘Ello! 4th-trumpet and Westview Waterboy DavidO is checking in, giving much-needed relief to Beckoning Chasm after BC’s two week run of excellent Funky snarking.
On to the funnies!
Hoo-boy. Put on your Members Only Jacket and throw on your Michael Jackson album because we’re about to retread over one of the tiredest troupes in situation comedy, the “Oh God, I’m having a baby, let’s duck into the nearest malfunctioning elevator that has a Rabbi, a mime and a 300lb guy who easily faints in it.” routine that was required in every sitcom, by congressional mandate, from 1983-1994.
Today’s strip throws logic out the window in favor of comedy, though I still don’t see how a panicked trip to the hospital where you gnaw your fingertips raw with anxiety constitutes comedy.
This sort of strip is great at illustrating why cell phones are the bane of screenwriters everywhere. In the age of instant connection, Jess could have just texted Durwood to come pick her up; she’s really feeling it and it’s almost time. The suitcase would already be in the car in that scenario; no need for a pregnant woman to go hauling it around.
I can’t peek ahead, so there’s no way of knowing if this arc is going to go on for weeks or if the Sainted Grandbaby will be enrolled in Westview High this time next month. Either way, prepare for every single worn out fumbling-dad-goes-to-the-hospital schtick ever seen in the last three centuries.
If Batiuk had ever gone to the trouble of fleshing out the character of Funky’s dad, then maybe we could afford ourselves a chuckle at today’s strip. When he cropped up in Act III, Pa’s broken hip was just a link in a week-long chain of mishaps that befell Funky on his birthday. Since then, Dad (whom Batiuk hasn’t given a first name) is rolled out any time the author wishes to make Funky seem sympathetic: Funky has to schelp his father home to “celebrate” Christmas, or to the mall Food Court for a Father’s Day “lunch”. Dad exists merely as just one more cross for Funky to bear.
Get yer Funky Winkerbean tropes here! Let’s see how many I can list:
This one’s not a trope (yet), but what has been going on with that banner? Its right side is suspended by—magic? a ginormous protrusion from Derwood’s occipital skull? writing?
YouTube (registered trademark, BTW) better upgrade their servers, pronto, before Boy Lisa follows through on his “threat” and crashes them with the tens of hits that video would certainly generate. Some arch-villian Frankie turned out to be. Ditto for his doughy henchman White Lenny, who is a real wuss compared to Black Lenny, who at least knew how to lean menacingly. Derin would have probably gotten the same results by simply throwing “Lisa’s secret journal” at them. Those corners do hurt, you know.
OK, so who had “they make a video of Summer reading random pages from her dead mother’s thirty-something year old journal that just happened to be discovered exactly when it fit into the story which forces Frankie and Lenny to give up when they threaten to air it on YouTube” in the “how does this arc end?” pool? Once again TheMaster finds the least-interesting, most random, nonsensical and totally balls-out stupid way of “crafting” a story that took what seems like a hundred weeks to tell. No one can predict what he’ll do and quite frankly I don’t think he even knows until he pens it. This whole story reads like he jotted it all down on a napkin while heading to the bathroom at 5am after a big craft beer, Seroquel and Nyquil bender. Like every other FW story does. It’s amazing, uncanny and totally inexplicable.
Son of Stuck Funky 
