Link to today’s strip
I said it yesterday, and it was reinforced by our crack cadre of commentators: THOUGHT BUBBLES, TOM. Your characters already act twice as robotic as the Futurama reject threatening to lap your doughy, eponymous, supposed ‘protagonist’. Having them also loudly narrate the world around them is as jarring, messy, and unnecessary as a watermelon speedbump on the autobahn.
I have no idea what that thing in panel one is supposed to be. I know what an aerator is, I’ve seen several up close, and that is like no aerator I recognize. Please, in the comments, let me know if you’ve ever seen anything like this being used for turfgrass management. Because it looks to me like a corkscrew mated with Johnny Five.
Apparently it’s not like any aerator that Google images has ever seen either. Heaven only knows what forensic specialists would make of my search terms from the last several hours.
“Football Field Aerator”
“Handheld Football Field Aerator”
“Handheld Mechanic Football Field Plug Aerator.”
I did, however, find a very nice pair of shoes that I’d like someone to wear while kicking Les Moore in the face.
Link to today’s strip
Comic Book Harriet here; stretching out her snarking muscles to warm up for this marathon of nonsense.
A long long time ago, when the world was young and Bush was president, I decided to join the Cross Country team. I wouldn’t call what I did on that team ‘running’, because that is an gross insult to the vital skill set that allowed our ancestors to chase down game and flee sabertooth tigers. If we are being extremely generous, we could call my half-hearted efforts ‘jogging’. Just like you could be generous and call the multicolored scribbles of a toddler ‘art’.
As my oxygen deprived brain would send gasping signals to my leaden legs to shuffle forward in a jerky shamble, my entire torso was consumed in the effort of sucking in air and huffing it out like I had swallowed a miniature iron lung.
Sometimes, when one of the more naturally athletic teammates would approach from behind to lap me, (again), they would attempt to engage me in conversation; but a few painfully wheezed one word replies were all I could ever manage.
Never in a million years would I have taken the effort and energy and oxygen to laboriously explain to myself, on an empty track, self-evident and pointless facts OUT LOUD.
Thought bubbles, Tom. They’re a thing.
Link to today’s strip.
Sunday’s episode was not available for preview. Typically, though, Sunday’s offering doesn’t interfere with (for lack of a better term) “continuity” of any of the (for lack of a better term) “stories.” After all, we’re promised a visit to the !!!FLASH MUSEUM!!! in !!!CENTRAL CITY!!! and what could Sunday possibly offer that could compete with that?
So, we’ll probably get Funky and Les jogging, Bernie and Pals at the Komix Korner, Les talking about how hard writing is (but Lisa is so worth it), or Funky being made miserable by the universe.
Some things we can count on–there will be smirks, terrible word-play, and of the six panels on display, three of them will be unneeded. And the content will be uninteresting, but in a uniquely disappointing way.
UPDATE: Les is angry that Funky’s imagination is far more interesting than his own. I’m wondering if the new artists are contributing to the writing as well; in olden days, Les would be venting his imagination (in a far more boring fashion), and Funky would be the one bringing everything back to earth. Today, Les is the stodgy, unimaginative one.
This is a nice development.
So how did Lisa do in the Lisa Legacy Run featured in today’s strip?
She finished dead last.
Sunday readers are advised to have that second cup of coffee before trying to parse today’s strip. At first it appears to be a continuation of yesterday’s run with Les. But Funky, rather than sweating profusely and moaning, is positively chipper. He shares with Les about his “most amazing dream.” CUT TO: a headline about Funky getting an award for his dream, then a beaming Funky sporting more awards, and then Funky bolting awake from a dream…about having a dream.
We interrupt Wally Winkerbean’s School Days to remind you yet again that Sunday, September 11, is the Rotary Run for Lisa’s Legacy in Mentor, Ohio. Too bad yours truly is even less fit than ol’ Funky: what I wouldn’t give to participate in Sunday’s 5K and be rewarded with one of those sweet (two sided!) tee’s that Les is modeling in today’s strip. Speaking of the Funkman, you think that as a recovering alcoholic he’d be a little more charitable to someone else who struggles with addiction.
(“Running Gag” has already been used twice…had to come up with something for a title…[hangs head in shame])
Link to today’s strip.
Say, do you ever catch yourself thinking, “You know, those Sunday strips with Funky and Les jogging are great and all, but why are they so darn short? I’d like to see a week of those!” Well, brother, you’re about to get your wish! Have you ever considered therapy?
The joke in this is always the same: Funky’s a fat old doofus who hates exercising and is unequipped to survive it. Les is an up-and-at-’em type who always outperforms. There’s only so many variants on “Funky is a fat lazy loser” and, let me tell you, none of them are funny. This one is just stupid, and poorly presented. It should show Les and Funky speaking on the phone, the night before; then Funky’s dumb non-something would at least make a certain amount of character sense (any excuse to avoid getting up early). Saying his line now, after they’ve been out for a while, makes Funky look genuinely stupid. Talk about low-hanging fruit….
Here’s an idea, Funky. If you hate exercise so much, if it’s nothing but a burden, why not stop? You’ve been doing it for years and it is clearly not benefiting you in any way, other than making you even more miserable (if such a thing is possible) and thus able to commiserate with everyone around you. Your *cough* best friend Les seems to use this time to remind you of how superior to you he is in every way. Let’s face it–you’re never going to lose weight, you’re never going to feel good about yourself, and what you see right now in life is all you will ever have. Your creator clearly despises you. Everything else in the universe is punishing you; you don’t need to join in too. You might die sooner, but you might die happier, too.
Admittedly that’s a stretch, but in this strip, any death seems like a happy occasion. Finally, someone is free of the dark clutches of this strip. Free to rot and molder, and–I think I’ll stop typing now.
Link to today’s strip
Good news, everybody! Funky doesn’t need to get all meth’d up before pounding the track with Les! He’s tweak free! But just look at the poor bastard. All those drugs really took a toll on him – it looks like Les is jogging with Mort.
I still can’t figure out what goes through T-Bats’ head when he coins a nonsense phrase or tries to force a new meaning onto a bit of the language. Does he think he’s so influential that his imagined meanings will sweep the language and the popular imagination? Does he look at his inked words and think to himself, “Yep. That sounds just like real life”? Or does he just kind of mindlessly parrot out phonemes that he thinks sound cool? He’s like an Engrish T-Shitsu Generator. Man, that is so nordic. Truly, I stand in line.
You know who really does deserve a Pulitzer? Whoever came up with that blurb “Funky Winkerbean is a reality-based comic strip that depicts contemporary issues affecting young adults in a thought-provoking and sensitive manner.” That is, if there’s a Pulitzer Price for bullshit.
June 24, 2016 at 10:29 pm
And of course we all know [Mason wanting to add an “e” to his last name] will never, ever be mentioned again…
Each time TB squanders ink and newsprint on a strip where Les and Funky go running, it’s the same question: why does Funky do it if he derives no benefit? Les appears to be reasonably fit (at least compared to Funky). He’s not spraying plewds everywhere (“plewds“, by the way, are the droplets of sweat we see in cartoons). Although that might be attributed to Les’ sweatband, which he wears so tightly that it appears to be deforming his skull.
On the heels of bringing you the last couple weeks of snark, yours truly feels like Funky does after one of his runs! Fortunately, billytheskink will be tagging in to go mano a mano with the mind of Batiuk for the next fortnight. Thanks as always for reading, commenting, and sharing the pain.
Link to Today’s Strip.
Hey, way to be the ultimate douche-bag, Les! Don’t tell your “friend” about the sports car as you approach it (or, if it’s driving, approaching you) so that he could easily see it. No, no, wait until you’re both past it, so he’ll have to turn around to see it and halt his momentum. That’ll teach him to be a fat slob of a loser!
I guess the “joke” was on Les, though–his Expression in Panel Two looks like someone who is stunned that his get-the-fat-guy-to-turn-around scheme has had no effect.
And this strip is yet another in which there is absolutely no content. No attempt at a joke, nothing that’s supposed to be “meaningful,” just another week of naught tossed off in a matter of house, then tossed into a drawer to be brought out and printed when snarkers derail your planned Ghost Lisa appearance. (I’m assuming.) Nothing to think about, except 1) who “shoots” an episode entirely from the back like this (although I guess it saves having to draw a nifty car), and 2) I wonder who went to all the trouble of shoveling the sidewalk so neatly. I mean, look at that–someone did a really good job shoveling, and just the sidewalk, too. Not like a homeowner shoveling his way from door to walk, just sidewalk all the way.
Anyway, that’s all I see here. And as it’s hard to criticize something that has no substance at all–neither good nor bad–I have to say, well played, Tom Batiuk. You’ll get to that magical 50th yet!