January 3, 2018 at 11:22 pm
If this was an AA meeting, somebody would have stopped Funky mid-sentence by saying, “In keeping with our singleness of purpose and our Third Tradition which states that ‘The only requirement for A.A. membership
is a desire to stop drinking,’ we ask that all who participate confine their discussion to their problems with
Comment of the week right there, folks. Of course, what we’re seeing is not an AA meeting, but what Batiuk thinks an AA meeting is like. Hence, we see people drinking coffee (which does happen) and smoking cigarettes (which is not allowed indoors in most places, including Ohio).
Of course, no list by Batiuk of What Ails the World would be complete without a mention of climate change, and everyone’s complicity in same: “We’re sending cruise ships…” Watching glaciers melt, or grass grow, or paint dry would be far more interesting than wading through a week of this dreck.
With his “home of the fearful” riff yesterday, it appeared Funky was about to launch into a political diatribe; however, today he veers into that other topic we’re supposed to never discuss in polite company. “Every day there’s news of one religion or another [emphasis mine] trying to elbow each other out of the way”? Uhh, ok. I guess he’s talking about those militant Presbyterians. Where the hell does Funky get his “news”?
January 1, 2018 at 9:44 am
Why does it have to be a stupid acronym like ARID? Why not just use the real AA? You could publicize an organization that has actually done some good.
I suspected ARID’s clubhouse might be another Real Place in Ohio. When I Googled “ARID twelve and twelve,” the first result linked to a very outdated site, hosted at tripod.com and apparently the work of someone with a serious axe to grind with Alcoholics Anonymous. I won’t bother linking to it, out of my personal respect for AA and other twelve step programs (which the “ARID Site” dismisses as “recovery cultism”). A little more searching turned up the “Akron Arid Club”, an AA group which according to the Beacon Journal closed in 2011. The location still can be seen in Google Street view; other than being made of bricks, the building bears no resemblance to Monday’s exterior.
Now that we’ve cleared that up…Funky frets that his son and prospective daughter-in-law, two Army vets who met while clearing landmines in Afghanistan, may have difficulty dealing with today’s political climate. He should be more concerned about Cigarette Guy, whose plume of smoke threatens to cloud the whole room.
I guess we shouldn’t complain: having split most of the last couple years between indulging his comic book fetish and flogging his latest collection of strips, Tom Batiuk’s finally gets around to featuring his comic’s titular character. The last Funkycentric storyline we had was in March, in which he explored an abandoned house in the woods while pondering mortality. Funky’s funk has not lessened, driving him back to AA where he assumes a Jesus pose and bemoans the absence of his book-touring best friend Les (“un-Moore-d”, get it?).
If Carl’s breathing apparatus in yesterday’s strip was some kind of sympathy ploy, it didn’t seem to help him sell any candy. Today Carl’s traded his nasal cannula for his horn, and is looking a little more chipper and a little less prone to drop dead at any second. Not only does that bastard Dinkle force them to peddle “Raisin’ the” bars to finance their CD, the Manorisms rehearsals have been known to last well past the typical nursing home bedtime. I don’t think medical marijuana is strictly legal yet in Ohio; in any case I think Iris and the boys would need something a little stronger to put up with Dinkle.
Cayla’s definitely put something in Les’ hot cocoa, but instead of lethal poison (our choice), mayhap she’s slipped in a little sumpin’ sumpin’ that will put some lead in Les’ stubby little pencil. Have we ever seen Les be the one to initiate a romantic encounter, with Cayla or any of the women who’ve fought over his writer ass? At least this time Cayla doesn’t have to take Les by the hand and drag him up the stairs.
Along with his cloying false modestly, Les’ other key character trait is his fear of success. He forgets that time in his writing career when the only news he got from publishers came in the form of rejection letters. And it was only last month that Les couldn’t produce more than one sentence until Darin showed up to reminisce with Les about “Mom.” Inspired, Les squeezed out the literary equivalent of a stool sample which he sent off to
the lab the publisher. Naturally the publisher loved it and wanted more, meaning—horrors!— that Les would be forced to continue working on what he considers his life’s passion.