Tuesday! Where we rush into a plot-line that we’ve literally already seen before. I’m not just just referring to when Darrin was born but in the 600 times his delivery was mentioned in the strip since. I mean, no wonder Darrin is having Deja-Vu about it, how many times has he had to sit through the story of his rush to the hosptial?
Odds that Fred is going to pop out of his medical drama to “help with the delivery” are looking pretty darned high from the looks of today’s strip.
‘Ello! 4th-trumpet and Westview Waterboy DavidO is checking in, giving much-needed relief to Beckoning Chasm after BC’s two week run of excellent Funky snarking.
On to the funnies!
Hoo-boy. Put on your Members Only Jacket and throw on your Michael Jackson album because we’re about to retread over one of the tiredest troupes in situation comedy, the “Oh God, I’m having a baby, let’s duck into the nearest malfunctioning elevator that has a Rabbi, a mime and a 300lb guy who easily faints in it.” routine that was required in every sitcom, by congressional mandate, from 1983-1994.
Today’s strip throws logic out the window in favor of comedy, though I still don’t see how a panicked trip to the hospital where you gnaw your fingertips raw with anxiety constitutes comedy.
This sort of strip is great at illustrating why cell phones are the bane of screenwriters everywhere. In the age of instant connection, Jess could have just texted Durwood to come pick her up; she’s really feeling it and it’s almost time. The suitcase would already be in the car in that scenario; no need for a pregnant woman to go hauling it around.
I can’t peek ahead, so there’s no way of knowing if this arc is going to go on for weeks or if the Sainted Grandbaby will be enrolled in Westview High this time next month. Either way, prepare for every single worn out fumbling-dad-goes-to-the-hospital schtick ever seen in the last three centuries.
So, one of the reasons Bull wanted to enter the world of higher education was so he could continue the great tradition of being a huge dick to the students. That seems rather humble, doesn’t it? I mean, all the teachers are huge dicks to the students; it must be the first instruction in the first paragraph of the Westview High School’s So You Want to be a Teacher pamphlet. Being a huge dick just means you’re earning your paycheck. I guess I can’t really blame anyone in the Funkyverse for setting his sights low; ambition is typically rewarded with a cosmic swatting. Still, it’s interesting to see such a naked lack of ambition.
By the way, I went to high school and I don’t recall any teachers taking advantage like this. Everyone, teacher, student and administrator, got in line and stayed in line. Of course, there’s nothing funny about playing by the rules…just like there’s nothing funny about Funky Winkerbean. Hey wait a minute–how can Bull “get cuts” in line, when lunch itself has been cut? Is Bull fantasizing? This…this is what he daydreams about? Yeah…that’s some ambition all right.
I see that the “smart-pad” has already been dropped (by Les, into the swimming pool). Someone from Apple must have hrmm-hrmm’d at Tom Batiuk’s lawyers, and the change from “iPad” to “Smart-Pad” probably didn’t mollify anyone. Well…perhaps Mr. Batiuk has learned a bit of humility from the experience, and the next time someone uses a bit of the old Funky Winkerbean magic, he’ll…oh, okay I can’t really keep up the pretense. My sense is that Mr. Batiuk will continue taking the advice from the So You Want to be a Nationally Syndicated Cartoonist pamphlet very seriously indeed.
Finally, after spending a week laboriously rehashing details we already knew, the
story arc goes somewhere. Too bad it’s Saturday and Sunday’s color strip will likely feature Les helping Pete move out of the apartment above Montoni’s.
And calling all you eagle-eyed nitpicking snarkers out there! Has Lisa’s journal *ever* been mentioned before? I mean, I know she left a massive library of reconning VHS tapes but I don’t recall anyone every saying anything about any journal.
Today’s strip gives us more nostalgic, fuzzy, sepia-toned flashbacks to the horrific memory of.. whatever the heck happened here. Domestic violence isn’t funny, so there’s not much I can say here, other than it’s a good thing Shaggy from Scooby-Doo was there to save the day!
Son of Stuck Funky 