Tag: Harry Dinkle

John Philip Snooze-a

I hope you’ve all enjoyed the stellar snark of Epicus Doomus these last two weeks as much as I have! A new mystery guest author sits in starting Monday, July 15! —TFH

Discuss: “Sousa marches sound best when they’re surrounded by a town square.” Well, for starters, it seems rather like the town square is surrounded by the music: it waves through the air like one of those advertising banners that gets towed by a small plane. And I’d wager that Sousa marches sound best when they’re played by, say, the United States Marine Band. When played by an ensemble small enough to fit in a gazebo that’s about the size of my bathroom, they sound, well, okay.

So in his retirement, “Harry seems to be working harder than ever”? Really? Harder then he did when he used to force his students to march in torrential rains? Harder than when he used to personally deliver band turkeys? Since he hung up his band director hat, all we’ve seen Harry doing is lurking around the high school and occasionally schmoozing with his fellow music educators.

Fail Well

Q. Why has Harry Dinkle never been circumcised?
A. Because there’s just no end to that prick!

Me
Yesterday
Those of us here in the real world can freely express our joy over the fact that the Dinkles appear to be exiting the convention at last…

Yeah, I was wrong, we’re still at the convention. For once, Batiuk leaves exposition aside, trusting the reader to know that we are at Harry’s book signing (we don’t see a lobby card that says “‘I NEVER PROMISED YOU A ROSE PARADE’ AUTHOR HARRY DINKLE TODAY 1 PM”).

The first young person we’ve seen in two weeks meekly approaches the wise Dinkle (and hey, Harry gets no long line of adoring fans?). She expresses to Harry her desire to teach, and in the next breath reveals her crushing self-doubt. Harry parries by telling her to “err on the side of confidence”, which Sally Student clearly lacks. Finally, with a wag of his pen, Harry advises her that while she probably will fail, to make sure that she fails for the right reasons.

Symphony for the Dinkle

Stupid question, Harriet. It’s never about having “a good time with your friends.” In the Funkiverse, every happy occasion only serves to remind us of our mortality and human frailty. It’s that “undercurrent of melancholy” that permeates every aspect of life in Westview, the place where people hide their happiness lest they tempt cruel fate. Those of us here in the real world can freely express our joy over the fact that the Dinkles appear to be exiting the convention at last, but not before Harry squeezes out one last tortured musical metaphor.

Flat Line

I liken today’s joke (if it exists at all) to a tiny object that someone wants to safely ship over a great distance via parcel post. The sender acquires a large and sturdy box, and places the object in it, and for protection, surrounds the tiny object with styrofoam peanuts, excelsior, and wadded-up pages from the Plain Dealer. Then the sender seals the box shut with reinforced tape, and brings it to the post office to send it on its way. The parcel is delivered, and the recipient cuts open the tape, pries open the box, and has to rummage through the worthless filler material in search of the contents. Finally his fingers grasp what must be the tiny object. He pulls it from its packaging, holds it up and inspects it, and wonders aloud, “This is it?”

Really, a lot of these strips can be compared to that mystery box. The joke contained therein (“liquid sound“?) is so small, weak and obscure that it’s almost impossible to identify. Who rates hotels on a musical scale, and why is “B flat” apparently mediocre? Many marching band instruments are pitched in B♭.

And finally, when is Funky going to take off that fake beard?