park bench – Page 6 – Son of Stuck Funky

Where the sidewalk should have ended

Today’s strip sees Mason and Cindy continuing the evening stroll they began yesterday, traversing Westview’s snow-covered central square park with its trademark gazebo. Despite the implications from the past couple of strips that he has a thing for Cindy, Mason reveals his real interest is not her but the town of Westview itself. Yes, Westview is definitely a change from Hollywood’s economic opportunity and operating post office.

With Westview reminding him so much of his hometown, one can only guess where Mason grew up. Centralia, Pennsylvania is a good bet.

Oh Tree Oh My

Your genial host TFH returns to guide us all through the holiday madness! My sincerest thanks as always to DavidO, Epicus Doomus, Beckoning Chasm, Oddnoc, and billytheskink for their guest contributions, and most especially to you, the reader. While it seems odd to some that we daily read and analyze a comic strip that makes us mad, it’s always good to commune with those with whom we share something in common, especially around the holidays.

At first glance, today’s strip seems to depict Holly and Funky about to be abducted by aliens. No such luck: it’s just another “taking things to the extreme” gag involving the gazebo tree. Query why, if the lights are so uncomfortably bright, the Winkerbeans are drawn like moths to it, standing so close to the light that it blinds them. Even Batiuk’s Medina neighbors must be scratching their heads over this one: the gazebo’s real-life counterpart is much more tastefully appointed.

I, Me, Landmine

Les rather magnanimously inquires about Cory’s well-being. Funky replies “…I always used to worry about where he was headed.” He’s referring, of course, to Cory’s heyday of petty larceny, school vandalism, cheating, and sassing his teachers. You know: the days when Cory was the coolest, most likeable character in the strip. Anymore–I mean, nowadays, with Cory tiptoeing through the Bouncing Bettys in war-torn Iraquistan, I guess Funky no longer needs to worry about his “totally focused” stepson.

Bench Depress

As yesterday’s pitch blackness turns into cheerful dawn, our joggers pass by what appears to be a WWI “doughboy” sleeping on a park bench. The sight inspires Les (and Tom Batiuk) to launch another zinger about how “the Wall Street crowd” (aka the “greedy, immoral morons“) create so much misery for us decent folk.

Bumbershoots in testudo

Let’s continue the litany, shall we?

with ten guests, or only seven;
with illness chronic or acute;
with thick crust or with thin;
with corners poppèd or unpopp’d;
if you will or if you won’t;
if you do or if you don’t;
da, da, da
ich lieb’ dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht,
aha
ich lieb’ dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht,
da, da, da

Looks like some of the guests have already bailed on this event, and I don’t find that ironic. Not at all.