Tag Archives: Holly

Wifetime is the Strife Time

The week began with Funky’s kitchen still in complete disarray, and continued with Funky moaning about how long the work was taking. Today we see that the job is suddenly, finally finished. The workers’ tools, and that lawn chair, are going back on the truck. We can’t see the name on the truck, but it doesn’t say “EZ Remodel,” the contractor who came out to quote the job back in February. Narrative sloppiness or plausible circumstance? Anyway, I like that even though we can’t see the entire phone number on the truck, Batiuk prefixed it with the good old “555” fictitious area code.

Naturally, the reason Batiuk has the contractor in panel 1 speaking about Holly as if she’s not standing right in front of him is to provide the hook for another puzzling punchline. “Wifetime guarantee” is a cute enough turn of phrase, but in this context what could it mean? The contractor is basically saying if they want to have additional work done, he’ll gladly take the job. How is that a “guarantee”? I’m pretty sure they’re not doing the job for free. Yet Holly in panel 3 is walleyed with glee, while Funky’s mug reverts to that hapless “oh, shit” expression he’s been sporting all week.

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Yes We Can

This is what happens when you break your contactor’s balls for taking a lunch break. The reno’s still not complete: there’s lumber and ladders everywhere and the electrical outlets are still exposed. But somehow, Sandwich Guy took the time to gather some colorful, empty tin cans–did he root through Funky’s recycle bin?–and hang them randomly from the ceiling with squiggly string. I mean, this has got to be a prank, right? Or did Funky hire the most cut-rate contractor he could find, one who actually thinks that these are the type of “cans” one would install in a kitchen ceiling?

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Nobody is Fine in Westview

Haha, wives sure are heartless, am I right? I really, really, do not understand what the point of this story was. People in the real world don’t usually tell stories that highlight what clumsy buffoons they are. Or that their wives don’t care if they’re injured (and are incapable of telling if the wall in a room they’re in is damaged and have to ask someone else). The only way this would make anything close to sense is if Funky really was dying for a beer when he was on the treadmill, and this whole story is actually about him relapsing.

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I Wish Funky Was Stashed Away

Oh, yay, Backwards Cap Young Alcoholic gets another line today. Today’s strip is really funny, because apparently Holly had no idea that Funky still had a Discman, despite the fact that they’re husband and wife. Had he never used it before, despite the fact that he somehow still has two? Or did she just not pay any attention to him, ever. Which is understandable.
The worst thing about these strips, to me, at least, is the smugness. In the third panel, Funky is acting like having a Discman still in the package is the greatest accomplishment of his life. Which, it might be.

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Table discussion

Whether or not the St. Spries choir will ever sing a note under Dinkle’s direction will have to wait for another day, for today’s strip returns to (what I assume is) TB’s latest writer’s block go-to: domestic scenes with the Winkerbeans. Hey, that rhymes!

Did you forget that Funky and Holly were having their kitchen “reno”-ed renovated? I don’t want to brag… but I did! And now Holly’s trying to spend the cataract surgery that Funky’s other eye still needs on a table they don’t need… such timeless humor. Wives, they’ll do it every time! What, there wasn’t a tip of the Hatlo Hat at the bottom of this strip? Guess my brain’s filling in missing visuals again.

Hey, thanks for putting up with me through two more weeks of this mess. I genuinely appreciate it. Steering us all through the swamp starting tomorrow will be the one and only man of space named Spiff, Spaceman Spiff. May you see no Les or Dinkle story arcs on your journey, good sir.

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Septic Schlock

Link To Sunday’s Strip

A large tank full of a winter’s worth of the Winkerbean’s slowly-thawing poo or another day of Dinkle…no contest there. I’m choosing the poo ten out of ten times. I’d suggest stuffing Dinkle into that septic tank but it’d be a shame to spoil perfectly good poo like that. If he comes back tomorrow I’ll be crushed.

But anyhow, yeah, BatHam isn’t getting out a whole lot these days, that much is clear. Church, the eye doctor, the yard…that’s about it, my friends. “Well, it finally stopped snowing so I went outside and walked around the yard for a while and I noticed how the ground above the septic tank always thaws first. So I thought it’d be very funny to do a strip about that phenomenon”. Yes Tom, there’s much humor to be mined from the simple things we observe from our studio window and so forth. Sigh.

And with that my two weeks are up and it’s time to turn things over to our resident licensed (and bonded) Official Funkstorian, billytheskink! It’s been fun (except for the Dinkle stuff) and memorable (except for the Dinkle stuff). And SoSF’s official anniversary date is rapidly approaching, so keep your eyes peeled in case we decide to observe it or acknowledge it in any way. No, it won’t be a parody post, I promise.

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We All Scream

J.J. O’Malley
February 26, 2021 at 11:43 pm
I can’t believe I’m writing this, but I almost want there to be a complete tour of the new and “improved” Chateau Winkerbean tomorrow, just so our six days of sloughing through (apparently) one very repetitive day-long conversation won’t have totally been in vain.

Hate to spoil it for ya, J.J., but I have a feeling that today’s strip is about as close as we’re gonna get to seeing the actual reno in progress. Throwaway panel 1 is a lovingly detailed rendering of a gutted kitchen, chock full of the kind of details–the orange extension cord, discarded sheetrock and wood, exposed studs and electrical–that have me thinking Batty snapped some reference pix during the real-life reno of his own kitchen that inspired this arc.

Also in panel 1, to the left of the FW text, we see Holly’s profile, which tells us that they’re sitting in a room that’s just off the kitchen. Which makes me wonder how she could forget that the ice cream and everything else has been moved to another location.

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It ain’t EZ being EZ, no.

Link To Today’s Strip

Oh those WIVES amirite? Always wanting their faucets not to leak, and their tub seams not to be stained black with mildew. Needing grout that hasn’t been haphazardly sealed with crazy glue, drywall not patched with bondo and tempera paint, linoleum sans the packing tape, light fixtures with actual covers still intact. What a bunch of absolute spendthrift divas.

Or maybe the Winkerbean bathroom and kitchen isn’t in such a state yet. Maybe it’s just my poor parents who have been putting off a kitchen/bathroom remodel since the Clinton administration because it’s easier to fantasize about the dream kitchen they’ll put in, forever perfect in its nebulousness, than it is to bite the bullet and finally rip out the Brady Bunch orange counter tops.

Anyway, this strip is either a tolerable lead in to a new arc of Funky misery, or the start of a very unappealing adult film. The dialogue says the former. But Holly and the Handyman’s bedroom eyes tell a different story. And what kind of real contractor just wanders around with a giant ‘EZ’ plastered on his hat and shirt. I’ve seen sexy nurse Halloween costumes with more believable ‘names’ on the lapel.

It’s been a fun couple weeks. The Dinkle arc was a bit of a slog to end on, but it’s not every shift that I get to talk about Batman. Thanks to everyone for the kind comments! TF Hackett will be taking over the exciting renovation action tomorrow. Please remember to thank him and Epicus for giving us all our cozy, internet safe-space where we can join together in mocking the final death throes of the slow entropic decay of a fictional universe.

Stay warm and Funky everyone! Comic Book Harriet signing off!

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Hackett and his Commenters

Link To Today’s Strip

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!

To celebrate the holiday of love and romance, Batiuk has graced us with a touching strip of an ommetaphobic man who has completely lost his mind after days of being forced to self-apply eye drops.

Remember this is a guy who had to be physically restrained a month ago by multiple people to have drops put in.

That explains his increasingly erratic behavior since the surgery. And the slow decline of his joy since Monday. Every single day, hour after hour, forced to pry his squinting eyes open with trembling fingers. Forced to carefully drip chemicals into the waiting lids, staring up at the nozzle of the dropper, the fear and nausea triggering a flight or fight response that he can’t let his body obey.

Our drip torture is about to end though. As I’ve peeked into the future and it seems the cataract saga is finally drawing to a close. At least, I hope it’s ending. I suppose we could be up for a repeat in a month, when Funky goes in to have his other eye done. I wouldn’t put that past this strip.

So relax, everyone, tomorrow is a brand new day! A day filled with Dinkle.

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À la Recherche du Temps Pizza

Link To Today’s Strip

Comic Book Harriet here again! Can’t believe I’m up again already. It seems like yesterday I was struggling to find a band turkey joke that wasn’t as overdone as the ones in the strip. But Tom rolls on like an ever flowing stream of consciousness, bringing me back again, panning through his muck for fool’s gold.

I want to give special commendation to SpaceManSpiff 85. He was given a relentlessly dim and myopic arc, and managed to fill the week with a overwhelming flow of cataract puns. Sir, you have my admiration. And my sympathy. Because it seems I’m going to be just as burdened this week with shortsighted visual humor.

I asked earlier this arc if Funky has always been a hapless character that only exists to be neurotic and spout lame puns. My interactions with Act I Funky come through flashback photo-cornered panels, car accident coma dreams, and the offerings of our resident Batiukian researchers. Longtime Stuckfunkians Rusty Shackleford and Banana Jr 6000 were kind enough to reply, and both used the term ‘burnout’ to describe Act I Funky, which kind of surprised me. I can’t see the preachy Batiuk, with more cheap soapboxes than a Palmolive warehouse, insinuating his main character was dating Mary Jane Wackytabaccy on the weekends, and playing it for harmless laughs. Crazy Harry? Sure. But the eponymous protagonist?

I can see it now. Panel two has Act I Funky, in all his mellow glory, blissed out on his tiny bed, with every comfort a baked adolescent needs within arm’s reach: lamp, pizza, soda, music, The Amazing Mister Sponge. Curled up in a tiny cluttered nest of his own hedonism. He even has his SHOES on the bed, that’s how much he DNGAF.

Stark contrast to Act III Funky in panels 1 and 3, sitting on a huge, empty bed, in a mostly empty room. Only a featureless smartphone and a rapidly expanding mattress his plebian pleasures. His specific interests have been pulled out, leaving us with a boring box containing a boring man with a face slowly drooping like a blobfish.

I wish Funky could have gotten glaucoma instead. We could have had burnout Funky back.

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