Obligatory Haiku post for today's strip Where nothing happens "Who spent most of his Time at war with the world and Ev'rything in it"? We talking about Phil Holt or that Ed Crankshaft? Both? Makes me shudder C'mon now, Durwood Phil did not know a dang thing About your mother C'mon too, Mindy Who here cares one iota About your granddad? Pete here wins the strip Only offense is a smirk Default win's a win
Tag Archives: mouths way too low on the face
I’m not on Dinkle’s side or anything, but I struggle to sympathize with the choir ladies in today’s strip. Those stern looks of disapproval are genuine and understandable, but these ladies have got to stop setting Dinkle up for this miserable gag. This is the third time they’ve walked right into it. Yes, Dinkle is insufferable and arrogant, but they’ve had plenty of time now to learn that asking him if he knows anything about a subject is a sure way to draw out that insufferableness and arrogance. If you don’t like the way he acts when baited, stop baiting him!
At least there’s no blood this time from Dinkle biting his tongue… Well, that’s not really an improvement. For a while there I thought that maybe Dinkle could be put on a path to self-destruction by frequently questioning his credentials.
For Pete’s sake, look how absolutely smug Dinkle is walking into the band room in panel one. Since his retirement, Becky has tried shilling mattresses, books, and selling the turkeys online. But here she is, stuck again in a chilly band room full of cardboard coffins of rapidly thawing poultry corpses. He knew she’d go crawling back to Sam’N’Ella’s finest, just like she always does. There’s nothing the elderly love more than seeing innovation fail.
I don’t know how long Batiuk has been patting his back over his Sam’N’Ella turkey pun. But, the earliest November in our archives shows the bacteria riddled band turkeys stacked to the ceiling.
I hope all of you aren’t tired of Dinkle yet! Because November is DINKLE AWARENESS MONTH, and our glorious leader, TF Hackett, will be making sure you all are aware of Dinkle for the foreseeable future.
But, before I sign off from my shift, I just wanted to take a moment for a little early Thanksgiving sentimentality. This week wasn’t just Donna and Harry’s (early) anniversary, it also marked my third anniversary of guest hosting this blog. I can’t say how much having a warm and inviting place to snark means to me. A place where I can stretch some disused writing muscles to a cozy, appreciative, audience, and even feel okay if I need to slack off on a few posts where the stress of real life or the paucity of the material gives me little to work with.
So I give thanks to TF Hackett and Epicus Doomus, for making this little place chug along, and giving me the opportunity to drive the bus every few months. And thank you everyone who comments, either with praise, or details, or your own hilarious takes on this strange comic universe’s Kafkaesque parody of a Hallmark Channel movie. Remember, your impotent rageposting makes the world a brighter and funnier place.
Stay Funky my friends.
In the glacially paced Funkiverse, we’ve learned to appreciate anything that passes for actual plot advancement. Linda has decided to retire, and the first one with whom she shares this important news is, naturally, her work husband Les. I’m wondering what Bull’s “maxed out” CTE is going to look like. So far, it’s merely turned him into a passive, mildly dumber version of his already dumb self. He definitely has depression, and his grasp on reality isn’t helped by well-meaning friends who retcon his past failings into Hall of Fame accomplishments.
I just had to share a remixed FW strip that appeared a few years ago at the comics blog Snark It Up, Fuzzball, which depicts a much happier outcome for Bushka Family.
It’s been said far too many times before. Here are two clods given a once in a lifetime opportunity for a dream job, and all they can do is moan and bitch, bitch and moan. The appropriate reaction from Mr. Toothpaste-Tube would be to say, “Okay, guys, we’ve had enough–if you can’t cooperate with us and produce something, if all you can do is smirk and make moronic remarks, we really don’t need you. So get your stuff and get out. And remember, you signed NDAs so don’t even think about posting anything online. Prison hasn’t gotten any nicer, and don’t believe anyone who says a spell inside will build character.” I’m sure that if Mason Jarr the Actor objected, he’d be told, “Okay, so you don’t want to be part of this franchise and want to go back to made-for-TV weepers. That can be arranged.” I’m sure Mason Jarr the Actor would suddenly remember what “professionalism” means.
You’d expect Pete and Darin to be interested in a title like that. It’s no worse than a Marvel or Lucasfilm title. It’s actually imaginative. And, when your main claims to fame are The Amazing Mister Sponge and illustrating a Les Moore comic book, respectively, I don’t think you have the right to criticize the works of others. Not by a long shot.
Seriously, these characters are infuriating. Fortunately, Mr. Toothpaste-Tube is doing his voodoo mouth-twich in the last panel, and we can see both Darin and Pete withering to dust right before our eyes.
When a cartoonist is clearly tired of producing work, and would far rather day-dream about an imaginary comic-book company, it’s time for that cartoonist to seriously consider retiring. Instead, what he does is create two characters–an “artist” and a “writer” so both jobs are represented–and give them the same disdain for work and longing for nostalgia. I guess in the case of the characters, Bantom Comics is (or was) a real-life publisher, so at least they’re waxing nostalgic about things that actually happened. Not that I think that’s any better; wasted effort is still wasted effort, no matter the inspiration.
The only thing of interest here is Mr. Toothpaste-Tube. Really, that guy is just weirding me out. He looks like Butt-head’s dad.
“Huh-huh, huh huh huh. Producers are dumb.”
“Yeah, yeah. Heh heh heh heh heh heh. It’s like, they demand things of true artists.”
“Uh…what? Huh-huh, huh huh huh.”
“Ahhh…I dunno, Butt-head, you tell me. Heh heh heh heh heh heh.”