“It’s like spring break for band directors…” And for retired band directors, and for the spouses of retired band directors, I guess. Rather than accompany Becky to Columbus, John takes advantage of her absence to “batch it”. Thanks, Inkwell, for looking it up; I was afraid John stayed home to “run a batch“, which actually sounds a lot more in character.
Does Montoni’s even make pizza without pepperoni?
Yes, I know this is a “comic” strip, but must every conversation serve as setup for a wry riposte? For starters, Jessica’s is sort of a loaded question; asking about old Fred’s chances of a “full recovery” from an obviously severe health episode. The guy’s lucky even to be alive. Then Darin goes into the windup: “We-e-e-l-l-l, hope isn’t dead, dot dot dot…” The “punchline”—and I always feel the need to put that word in quotes when talking about FW—is confusing as well: so is Fred on life support? Hope is on life support? Way to stay positive, “son”.
On a side note, the Westview P.O. Bombing Arc page has been updated, and is more or less complete.
Today Batiuk revisits one of FW‘s dominant themes. No, not clumsy sentence structure (“…go ahead again anyway”?). Nope, not bricks. Naturally, I’m talking about the need to conceal one’s happiness, lest one attract the wrath of the universe. I truly wonder if this notion exists anywhere outside the Funkiverse? Imagine being unable to express even the slightest joy, out of an abject fear of recrimination. This might work as a quirky trait for a particular character (think Joe Btfsplk from Li’l Abner), yet this phobia is clearly understood and shared by everyone in Westview. Anyway, in this case, said wrath takes the form of an ill-timed phone call from…Darin’s mom? Is Lisa checking in from the afterlife again?
Epicus Doomus
December 28, 2012 at 8:37 pm
…Rule #2: DO NOT try to make sense of the timeline…it is a fool’s errand.
Not so much trying to make sense as just pointing out how wack this “25th soberversary” is. Funky’s battle with the bottle was depicted in Act II sometime during 2006 (and was published in book form in summer of 2007). If you figure in the 10-year time jump, and the five years and two months that have elapsed since then…oh, screw it. Why do we care if the author doesn’t? Careless!
Let’s ponder instead why John and Crazy Harry are entering Montoni’s through the back door. Is the “Comic Book Convention” we saw them at yesterday taking place in Montoni’s back room? Holly and Funky toast his sobriety with a couple glasses of “City of Westview” because Funky couldn’t find anything cheaper. Crazy Harry seizes the opportunity to appear magnanimous, by offering to pick up the tab on just about the only thing he can afford on what John’s paying him.
Over the course of 2½ years of presiding over this forum, sharing nearly a thousand daily posts and over 19,000 reader comments about your work, I’ve managed to hang on to a tiny shred of admiration for you. When the “Fuck you, TB” comments flew, I could confidently poke my head out of the foxhole and say, “Hey! Give the man credit. He’s made a forty-year career of doing something he loves.” Or, “He’s seems like he’s actually a nice guy in person.” Or, “Well, he has some interesting musical tastes.” Or, “He’s raised a fair amount of money and awareness to fight cancer.” Or, “O.K., today’s strip is truly funny.” All right, that last one, not so much.
And then, today, Tom, you pull this. You spend three weeks on an arc where Crazy Harry gets fired (or retires, according to one strip), with one week’s notice, and no severance, pension or unemployment benefit, and has to sell off his books and comics before accepting a part-time temp job (which he’d willingly do for no pay) at the Komix Korner. Come Sunday, he-e-e-e-e-re’s Harry, in full postie drag, to deliver the annual “Buon Natale dalla soleggiata Florida!” postcard from Tony (along with a bonus potshot at e-mail).
Admit it, Tom: your heart’s just not in it any longer. This is more egregious than having Les show up in Westview a week after getting on a plane to Tanzania. You fancy yourself a writer; you regularly lecture and chastise the readers; you dismiss as “beady-eyed” anyone who finds fault with your creative output. Even in a fictional milieu where continuity long ago became an afterthought, today’s strip signals to the readers that you flat-out don’t give a shit anymore.
Son of Stuck Funky 
