Documentarianne Jessica has been enlisted to capture Les and Cayla’s special day with her pro-grade, state-of-the-1990s-art VHS-8 camcorder, eschewing a tripod in order to get that trendy “found footage” effect. The music, wherever the hell it’s coming from, suddenly swells again, distracting Jessica in the instant that her lens captures Cayla’s head exploding…the shocked guests turn in the direction that the gunshot came from, to see Susan Smith sitting in the “golden canopy” of Les’ old tree, dressed in a wedding gown, triumphantly holding aloft a sniper rifle.
Tag: Harry Dinkle
Dinkleballs
Harry hopes that “those suggestions” (such as giving her a fake schedule) will make dealing with Roberta easier for Becky. In exchange for his shared wisdom (the rest of which none of us got to hear), Harry asks Becky’s help in retrieving his “manhood”. No doubt his manhood is carefully preserved in a Mason jar, on a shelf in the Blackburns’ basement, along with those of DSH John and Becky’s father.
The Mother of All Clichés
Yeah, today’s “punchline” is pretty stale. So let’s focus instead on the artwork here: although Dinkle and Becky in panel 1 are shown standing on solid ground, their body language gives the impression that the conversation is taking place on the deck of a ship on a rolling sea. In panel two, each figure lurches to their right, before Harry bobs left in panel 3. It’s disconcerting, but even more disconcerting is the proportion of Becky’s head to her scrawny neck. “It’s like an orange on a toothpick!”
Help Me Harry
Becky continues to vent to anyone within earshot about how crazy her mother is making her, dramatically clutching her head to illustrate her point. So broken is this mother/daughter relationship that she turns to old Harry Dinkle for advice on how to “deal with her”. Harry helpfully shares a mean, passive-aggressive prank she can try. Because telling Roberta point-blank “Thanks for volunteering, but no thanks” isn’t an option.
You Got Hosed
Today’s strip hearkens back not only to this gag from last year, but to the Act I days, when Batiuk crafted enough marching band strips to fill over a half-dozen books. Among the gags-within-the-gag was the fact that the annual Battle of the Bands invariably would take place in the midst of a torrential downpour. Nice to see Batiuk tipping the ol’ Funky fedora to his own funnier and fondly remembered early work.
However, I have to wonder what Westview’s equivalent of Groundskeeper Willie is gonna think when he sees that the band has trampled the football field into mud.
Son of Stuck Funky 