I’m sure asking someone if you’re currently dreaming or your very life is somehow an imaginary story in front of a crowd and on camera will do wonders for Flash’s reputation.
This is just so dumb on so many levels. Batiuk can’t resist making everything into some kind of comic book reference or “joke”. Phil has apparently literally come back from the dead and is reunited with his former coworker/friend, and this is what Batiuk does with that moment? Instead of going with something genuinely emotional, or maybe explaining how he’s not dead anymore, he decides to criticize other people’s comic book writing? This is just sad.
At this point, why not just have Lisa randomly show back up alive next Monday?
I suppose we have the consolation that today’s strip is not nearly as terrifying as Dinkle’s last music directing dream. That’s not much, but we have to take what we can get here.
So this group really is a “Gospel” choir? That wasn’t just a set up for last month’s “gossip choir” joke? Look, I’m not saying that a choir of interchangeable old white midwestern women in what appears to be a staid mainline Protestant church cannot sing a genre of music that is most strongly associated with (often) male feature performers in southern evangelical or (particularly) Black churches. Unexpected as it might be, of course they can. What I’m saying is that I don’t think TB has any idea that Gospel music is an actual genre of music itself and not simply another term for “hymns” or “church music”.
Unfortunately for TB and for us, music is not like a choir loft. It can’t be researched by taking a photo of it and e-mailing it to Chuck Ayers.
Apparently Dinkle has suffered from these band turkey
dreams nightmares leading up to Thanksgiving every year, even unto a decade or more into his retirement. Harriet knows that, now that Thanksgiving’s behind them, Harry’s PTSD (Post Turkey Sale Dementia) will start to lessen. Unfortunately, her “sugarplums” reference has triggered in Harry’s dream consciousness a truly nightmarish scenario, in which the box he carries door to door is crawling with large spiders!
Having failed using the direct approach, then humor, Dinkle must resort to his ethical pitch, extolling the green and humane practices of Sam and Ella’s Poultry Co. None of that concerns Roseanne here; someone in the household needs to avoid gluten. As someone who’s blessedly free from such dietary restrictions, I thought Purple Lady’s question was a little weird, but in fact, basting solutions injected during processing sometimes contain gluten. Dinkle manages another, less-witty-than-yesterday‘s riposte, and that confident smile, but beneath the shiny patent visor of that military, his eyes narrow with resentment, and for a fleeting moment he allows himself to imagine himself clobbering this glutenist slattern senseless with the thawing gobbler he’s been schlepping from door to door all week.
Contrary to popular legend, there is no evidence that Benjamin Franklin ever publicly supported the wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo), rather than the bald eagle, as a symbol of the United States.
You know who else suggested that the wild turkey, not the bald eagle, should be the national bird of the United States? Not Ben Franklin, according to Auntie Wikipedia. Perhaps Dinkle knows this, and he’s delivering the “national bird” remark satirically. This is supported by the fact that he’s smirking so hard when he says it that his mouth threatens to escape his face. But wait, here comes the punchline and…it’s…Butterbald? Hell no, I’ve never heard of a Butterbald Eagle. Or a “Butterbald” anything! Did Batty feel that the good people at Butterball® LLC wouldn’t be OK with a free mention in 400 newspapers right before Thanksgiving? Batiuk’s propensity for coming up with jokey, soundalike “brand names” once again tramples what would have been a borderline decent gag.
Link To Today’s Strip
Or you could just TELL US what Funky forgot. Geez Louise, this one is glacially-paced even by FW throwaway arc standards. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll turn out to be his tax return and the IRS will arrest him and shutter Montoni’s forever, prompting a town-wide recession and eventual riot in which Les Moore is killed by a vicious mob of unemployed pizza-starved goons. I mean I doubt it, but you gotta have hope. But alas, it’s probably just be something incomprehensibly stupid like it always is.
Link To Today’s Strip
Repeating the premise over and over always makes it funnier. Repeating the premise over and over always makes it funnier. See? There’s probably no cheaper dialog than “I can’t believe…”. “I can’t believe you knew Turtle Thompson!”…”I can’t believe how that guardrail just crumbled!”…”I can’t believe it’s been twelve years plus maybe ten more since Lisa died!”…a simple time-killing tactic courtesy of a simple time-killing man. If this was any other “writer” on the planet, the idea that he could get six full days out of this premise would really strain credulity. But here? Not so much.
Being late/running late is a very common theme in dreams…Being late in a dream as an image of finding it difficult living up to your own demands or the demands of others…When we dream that we are late or that we are about to be late, it is often because we are fighting a battle to achieve more than we can actually handle.
It’s a pretty common dream, all right, so give Batiuk points for being relatable for once. I know I’ve had dreams of this type. The naked-in-public kind of dreams, too. Batiuk and Ayers do a pretty good job at giving this scenario a dreamlike feeling. The hallway appears infinite, and eerily empty. And while this is almost a universal dream premise, I bet Tom Batiuk hasn’t had this dream in ages. At this stage of his career, the only demands he probably has to meet are to submit one comic strip per day. It doesn’t have to be especially well drawn, or funny, or make sense, or follow a narrative. Just a piece of content, to fill space on a newspaper comics page or on a website.
Well, my two week long nightmare of having to deconstruct FW every day is ended, and on deck is guest emcee Epicus Doomus! Take it away!
Sunday readers are advised to have that second cup of coffee before trying to parse today’s strip. At first it appears to be a continuation of yesterday’s run with Les. But Funky, rather than sweating profusely and moaning, is positively chipper. He shares with Les about his “most amazing dream.” CUT TO: a headline about Funky getting an award for his dream, then a beaming Funky sporting more awards, and then Funky bolting awake from a dream…about having a dream.