Tag Archives: oddly muted squiggly lines

Cataractive

I like this doctor. “Yeah, he’ll just have to wear this thing for a couple of nights, I don’t know how many exactly, whenever he feels like taking it off, whatever. Oh, and he only needs to wear it at night, he can take it off during the way, who cares.”.
Funky sure has had some wild mood swings this week. The first two panels he looks like he’s lost the will to live, then in the third he’s popping up and yelling out a pirate impersonation.

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Cataractastrophe

This is an odd strip. I guess the joke is “Funky isn’t feeling anything because he’s been ‘sedated’, even though sedation and anesthetization aren’t the same thing, if he’s freaking out and yelling he sure doesn’t seem sedated”, but I don’t get why he’d be dead set on having to feel something before he goes in for surgery anyway. Shouldn’t be relieved that he can’t feel anything before he has a knife inevitably poke out his eye?

I like to think of this as Funky just admitting that he’s dead inside and has no emotions anymore, because I’m very tired at the lame attempts at humor and very much want this strip to jump back into overblown melodrama. At least that was slightly entertaining.

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Cataraction

That seems like some fast acting “sedative” if the nurse thinks it would be affecting Funky’s sense of humor as she’s injecting him with it. Where has she been all week? This whole cataract storyline seems to be nothing but Funky making one joke after another only to have someone say he’s not funny.  It’s also kind of funny when you read the week in context, how it goes from Funky being nervous and anxious to “Hey!  Here’s a cow joke for literally no reason at all!”.
I’m pretty sure she should be giving him anesthesia and not a sedative, too.

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Pink Cataract

Today’s strip is a good example of why you should try and make sure your art and writing convey the same tone and mood. The writing makes it seem like Funky is supposed be cracking wise and attempting and failing to be funny. But his expression in second panel totally contradicts that. He just looks weary and exhausted, to the point where I would assume the original dialogue was “Why? I’m not going to live to see it.”.
And the nurse’s expressions throughout this strip are more “I’ll pray for you, since you’re trapped in a nightmare hell marriage” and less “Oy, your husband has a lame sense of humor”.

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Eye am about out of eye puns

And eye (ugh) *s-eye* (no no no) *sigh* (that’s better) sorry… I am about out of patience with this anti-majestic glacier of a story line. Every single thing in today’s strip happened in yesterday’s strip as well. I’m not sure even Garfield or Family Circus recycle at this level… I don’t know if this will help, but I have cut the 62 words in these last two strips down to 20 in an attempt to make this never-ending story stronger and more concise.

Dr. Droopy: Cataract surgery is pretty common nowadays.  It is quite safe and not especially complicated.
Funky: I'm worried! WORRIED, I TELLS YA!

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Putting the “die” in dilate

Let us all sincerely hope that today’s strip is the end of “Funky terrorizes the optometrist’s office with his shmuckery.” Oh please please please! I ran out of things to say about it on Tuesday and since then I’ve been filling space with a Droopy photoshop done in Microsoft Paint, obscure 90s punk rock references, and my own experiences at the ophthalmologist. Today, I very nearly wrote 3-4 sentences in this post about what my cat was doing right now, but I’ve taken up too much of you all’s valuable time already. Well, at least I finally thought of something to say about this strip…

Speaking of drops, I’m thinking this country’s newspapers should do just that to a couple of comic strips.

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You Took the Bird Right Out of My Mouth

Now I know meatloaf is typically not gluten free, especially the way I make it, and the way I make it is different every time (my pièce de résistance is my heart shaped, bacon wrapped Valentine’s Day meatloaf).  Pizza may be the most ubiquitous foodstuff in the Funkiverse, but I was just thinking back to a little over a year ago, to the last time we saw a wife preparing a meatloaf.

Back at the Dinkle home (which has been repainted at some point in the last three weeks) we find Harry and Harriet joined by daughter Halle, and some fella whom we’ve not met. From the way his right arm seems to disappear behind Halle, he’s either her amputee fiancé or a heretofore off-panel conjoined twin. The last place Halle Dinkle was spotted was at her parents’ 50th anniversary pizza party, but the character was created by Batiuk for the National Association for Music Education (she’s a music educator like her dad). This most niche of comics heroine has her own shrine here at SoSF.

On behalf of all of us who bring you Son of Stuck Funky, here’s to a peaceful and joyous Thanksgiving to you and yours!

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The Ultimate Racketeer.

Link To Today’s Strip

Potted plant is back!

I wonder if we’ve been a little harsh in our criticism of the bland offering of jokes this week. I showed the strips to a friend and they got a mild chuckle from her.

Our palates have really been ruined by consuming and analyzing EVERYTHING Batiuk provides in his greasy spoon buffet. When you’ve gagged over creamed corn that’s been congealing under a heat lamp for eight hours, it becomes so much easier to find problems with the innocent loaf of off-the-shelf white bread splayed out in slices at the end of the table.

I think it’s easy for us, deep in the lore, and with years and layers to our disdain for some of these characters, to forget that a week of strips like this is probably the only enjoyment casual readers get out of these comics, smiling half heartedly as they accidently let their eyes drift over Funky Winkerbean while searching for the obituaries.

Can you imagine being an average Joe, not a weirdo commenting obsessively over a comic strip online, and opening your local fishwrap to randomly read a strip from the L.A. Fire arc? Or Bull’s suicide? Or Zanzibar the talking murder chimp blessed be his name? Your brain would spit that wad of nonsense right back out to protect itself, like slamming the door on a Jehovah’s Witness.

But today’s strip? This is the kind of strip destined to be cut out of the paper and put on the fridge by kindly little old music teachers who paid for their grandkids’ Christmas presents with piano lessons. It’s a stolen joke, told with a microgram of charm, that will get a few smiles.

I talked earlier this week about Batiuk’s immortality. And, as much as he’d like it to be cancer or PTSD or teen pregnancy, it’s really one-off Dinkle type gags. I remember Dinkle strips posted in my own music teacher’s office. Tom’s real legacy isn’t massive volumes of collected comics, it’s yellowed strips of newsprint taped haphazardly to a filing cabinet beside a pile of music stands.

I can imagine, fifty years from now, a kid opening a cupboard in the attic of my old band room, where the retired uniforms and broken instruments are left to rot, and inside are a pile of dusty worn out band shoes, a few tarnished majorette hats, and, pasted to the door, a browned and crumbling clipping of Harry Dinkle, screaming at children in the pouring rain.

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