Rachel – Page 3 – Son of Stuck Funky

Cussing Kiddo

Truly, Wally is the greatest hero of our time, next to Les, since he stared silently at a curb and had a wheelchair ramp built there.

Sadly, he had to pay for it out of his own paycheck, and Rachel won’t be able to get the treatment she so desperately and obviously needs for her hair cancer.

You know what’s legitimately hilarious about this strip? Billy, who I totally forget existed before this strip, has had more dialogue and a bigger role than Summer has had in the past five years or so of this strip.

Thanks for having me, everyone! The amazing ComicBookHarriet will be taking over tomorrow.

They’re All Writing in “Lisa”

Strips like today’s really just make Batiuk’s habit of writing his strips so far in advance extra hilarious. Not only is nobody wearing a mask and everyone is basically touching, you have a roughly hundred year old man on oxygen right in the middle of them. And it’s not like the global pandemic just sprung up in the last week when it was too late to tweak the strip. Batiuk’s had nine months where he could’ve had the artist at least draw masks on the characters to make it look like it reflected reality.
Les blatantly ogling Funky’s ass with both of his hands in his pockets while his Lesser Wife is standing right next to him is extra awkward.
When did Crazy Harry’s wife die from cancer/get murdered by him/starve because his part time job at a comic shop couldn’t feed them both? It’s especially sad when you’re a Funky Winkerbean character whose tragic untimely death doesn’t even merit an arc, or Les silently staring at your obituary in the paper.

Please Come, We Need Money So Bad

Today’s strip almost comes off like an apology for yesterday’s. I’m sure it’s not, since that would be a surprising amount of self-awareness for him, but following up “women can’t be geeks, and geeks can’t stand women” with “we welcome everyone” is an odd clash. Especially when today’s strip continues the long pattern of women in Batiuk’s strips doing nothing but walking up to their menfolk and asking what they’re doing. Even when the sign is clearly done and it should be obvious to Rachel.

It’s also kind of weird just on its own merit. Yay, Montoni’s doesn’t discriminate. We can all rest easy and be inspired now. I also don’t know why an entire Sunday strip had to be spent on this, when a single panel of the sign would’ve been enough.

ICE, where’s my car?!

Today’s strip marks one week since we’ve heard so much as a peep from Amicus Breef, and yet he is still there like he did anything at all to help Adeela or anyone else. He doesn’t even get to bluster to the ICE agent, Funky fills that role today. Things ICE should have to show if they are going to arrest Adeela should be Amicus’ wheelhouse, not Funky’s. And yet, ICE backs off at Funky’s incomplete demand (seriously, what was he demanding to see?) while they never wavered when confronted by Amicus, making Funky a far far better immigration lawyer than Amicus, who is literally an immigration lawyer.

Son of a gun, TB remembered the insulated bag! Before we praise him too much for this, it should be pointed out that the insulated bag officially spent more time in ICE custody than Adeela.

Also, Funky still hasn’t gotten his delivery car back.

Special Dumblivery

The panel borders of today’s strip are just holding it, just enough to keep it from —

It burst into the frame! Get out of the way! Get out of the way!

Get this Funky! Get this Funky! It’s boring and it’s crashing! It’s crashing terrible! Oh my, get out of the way please. It’s boring, bursting into the frame and it’s — and it’s falling on the boring cast and all the folks agree that this is terrible. This is one of the worst catastrophes in the world.

And oh, it’s…boring, oh, four or five segments into the strip. It’s a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen. The smirks and the lameness now and the text is crashing into the foreheads, not quite to the boring cast. Oh, the humanity and all the characters smirking around here. I told you. It’s — I can’t even type to the readers whose snark we host here. It – It’s….I — I can’t type ladies and gentlemen.

Honest, it’s completely a mass of smirking dreck. And everybody can’t hardly read it. It’s hard, it’s crazy. Folks, I — I — I’m sorry. Honestly, I — I can hardly read it.

I — I’m gonna step away where I cannot see it. Funky, that’s terrible. I – I can’t….Listen folks, I — I’m gonna have to stop for a minute because I’ve lost my head. This is the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed.

With sincerest apologies to Herb Morrison and humanity… and Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin (who TB should also apologize to).