You know what gang? It’s a lovely summer’s evening as I write this. The missus and I are sitting by the pond watching the koi swim over the lights. I am enjoying the peace, quiet, and sanity of my backyard and came into the house just long enough to put up a placeholder for you, dear readers, to snark away at today’s strip.
Tag Archives: Skyler
August 10, 2017 at 11:52 am
this is very depressing even by the standards of this strip – I’m half way convinced that Boy Lisa is going to take Mr. Holt home once he sees the conditions that he’s living under.
They arrive at Phil’s humble abode, a small studio apartment which is mostly taken up with an enormous old drawing board. There has got to be a crooked lampshade somewhere in this room. Darin’s attention is drawn to the picture frames that cover the walls and which are all…empty. Something isn’t right here. He decides to stay calm and just play along, humoring the crazy old man until he and his son can get back to the car.
Whatever else new artist Rick Burchett brings to this strip, he knows how to draw a realistic, modern looking car. And he can draw the occupants seated comfortably inside, not pressed up against the windshield. Good job!
While the artwork’s (marginally) improved, the writing hasn’t changed. Phil Holt is such a comics legend that he’s instantly recognizable; quite a feat for anyone not named Stan Lee. Yet he bitterly dismisses his life’s work as “just junk.” “Now there was this young fella back in the day, walked in off the street…’Tom’ something, ‘Tom…Batty-yuck’. From Ohio. Showed me his portfolio. Great stuff, much better then my work. Told ‘im thanks but no thanks! Shit, he’d have had my job!”
Of course it’s up to Darin, the high school newspaper comics legend, to cheer up Mr. Holt, and it seems to work. Hopefully he’ll omit the part about the Comic-Con attendee who called Phil’s namesake “an old-fashioned piece of junk.”
Looks like the party’s over, and Darin’s spent the better part of his time pestering “Mr. Holt” rather that getting to know the other parents. There’s the purple mom in the background…she spotted Jess-less Darin at the party and swooped in to chat him up, only to be left standing there once Darin spied his idol. Now she looks on from a distance, arms akimbo, before resignedly gathering the drab blue and slate gray party balloons. Meanwhile, as if having ol’ Phil reduced to working children’s parties wasn’t pathetic enough, Batiuk has him bumming a ride home.
Hard to believe, but today’s strip is the first in over a month (a MONTH!) to be built around a sneezing blond man. That Comic-Con arc (or “crud”, I’m gonna start using crud) makes it seem like years…
I’m not a doctor, but Durwood, sick with a contagious disease he picked up at Comic-Con, attending a birthday party thick with toddlers and their developing immune systems seems like a bad idea. I guess Jessica can’t take Skyler because she has another engagement… Ha ha ha! Sorry, I crack myself up sometimes.
Thanks for sticking with me for another two weeks of Funky Winkerbean being especially Funky Winkerbean-y. El Jefe himself, TFHackett, takes the helm tomorrow. May his tenure be devoid of Starbuck Jones and Les (it won’t be, almost assuredly, but it would impolite not to wish so).
Oh. My. God. Pete and Dullard are pathetic beyond my ability to measure.
Well, I guess working as a storyboard artist must pay pretty damned well. The shipping and insurance alone on that garbage is probably going to be over two hundred dollars…especially if the treadmill is a fully-functional model that is being shipped fully assembled. Although I doubt the treadmill “works.” Museums don’t really tend to sell that kind of thing.
And when we last glimpsed Dullard’s house or apartment or whatever, it sure looked small–where is he going to keep that monstrosity?
Maybe they can turn Skyler’s room into a Flash Treadmill Room. A phone call to the local orphanage would be the first step. The orphanage in Westview is just bursting with inconvenient children; in California, I’m sure they’ll have no problems finding something similar.
As for the “dolly,” again I can’t comprehend the idea of wanting something like that. It just seems (to me) like a huge waste of space, unless you’re running a comic book store. Or unless you’re Chester the Chiseler and live alone in a giant mansion. In that case, superhero statues are your best friends, and lord knows you can’t have too many of either, especially if one column has a big fat zero in it!
I originally was going to say that this whole arc reads like something from a huge Flash fan who happens to be five years old, but that just seems too mean, even for me.
I understand being a huge fan of something which has made you profoundly happy, and the urge to share that happiness by trying to share the fandom. But there are ways to do that which work, and there are ways to do that which actually turn people off from the “something” you’re always on about. This story does a good job of showing that Tom Batiuk is the world’s biggest fan of the Flash, and that he has no way of transmitting this enthusiasm (bordering on unhealthy obsession) to anyone else.
Note: personally, I always thought that the Flash was a pretty cool superhero. I only rarely read his comics but it seemed to me that they went out of their way to be scientifically plausible, and as a callow youth I appreciated that. He’s even better in the animated Timmverse; the previously mentioned episode “Flash and Substance” is very entertaining. Even better is “The Great Brain Robbery” where Flash and Lex Luthor switch minds. Should I mention the best line in that episode? No…cause I’m evil.
So, don’t let Tom Batiuk give you the idea that the flash is only for cretins, dimbulbs and creeps. The Flash is one of the good ones.