Today’s strip could’ve been one of my favorites ever if the third panel had depicted the director acting the way a real human being would, by telling Dinkle to sit down and shut the *#@% up. I do find it extremely hilarious that the World’s Greatest Band Director Harry L. Dinkle isn’t directing this band. Especially considering that the guy who was chosen to lead it seems to be missing a chunk of his head, possibly in an accident suffered while marching in the rain.
Oh, and apparently Mike Sewell was a real band director that is being honored in the parade this year. I feel like 99% of the readers of this strip would just assume he was another character in this strip and not give it a second thought. I also think it would be nice if Batiuk had highlighted Sewell a little bit more rather than making this all about Dinkle.
Tag Archives: trombone
Batiuk’s Level of Preparation is Low
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
61*
Sixty-one words (if Mary Jane is two words) and a shit-ton of ellipsis(s)…that’s not a word balloon, it’s a word billboard. At least all the characters are easily identifiable by name now. Check out the look on Morton’s face, he’s eyeing up those church ladies like he’s standing at the supermarket deli counter. That Ricca seems somewhat interested, at least. She also appears to be a solid forty years younger than the rest of the choir, which leads me to believe there’s some sort of demented back story there, but as it involves that other comic strip of his, I don’t care.
So Carl plays the trumpet while on oxygen? Seems counterproductive to me, but then again he really doesn’t have a lot to lose at this point, as he’s already clearly bottomed out.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
No Choir Boy
Ugh, this certainly doesn’t bode well for the rest of the week. When did they suddenly begin talking about the choir? I thought this was about the organ. And there’s no joke here, other than how this happened to Dinkle before back in 1977 or whatever. And that ain’t funny.
Instead of a silly hat that always covers his eyes, I believe Act III Dinkle should wear a silly hat that obscures his entire body AND his word balloons too. He’d be way more palatable that way. He’d still suck, of course, but at least we wouldn’t keep seeing proof of it.
This arc should be more like the movie “Hustle And Flow”. Dinkle would sit down at the organ and start playing a hot riff, then the church ladies would jump in and lay down a tight beat and it’d end with Dinkle in jail for beating the hell out of Les after discovering that Les threw his sheet music in the WHS urinal after promising Dinkle he’d get it to his publisher. I’d buy that anthology AND stand in line to get it signed, too.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
Chop Fooey
Sigh. I have to assume that this is a play on musicians “busting out” their musical “chops” or possibly an attempted malaprop or maybe even both. I’ve been pondering it for ten seconds now and it’s another ten seconds I’ll never get back. Thanks, Tom. Nothing’s ever easy in this daffy Funkyverse of his, you know? It’s either a tedious, grueling plod to a barely-perceptible resolution or it’s a really dumb sort of ambiguous gag that takes a half an hour to get. This one-time Pulitzer nominee (fluke thing) can’t just tell a story or crack a joke, you have to wade through layer after layer of nothingness to get nowhere instead. Bah, humbug.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore
I hope none of you are fans of the blues or rockabilly, because you’re about to watch the things you enjoy become tainted with Harry Dinkle, and you’ll never get any pleasure from them again. I’m guessing Batiuk took a vacation to Memphis recently, and we’re all going to pay.
I don’t know what kind of a monster that is in panel one, but it appears to be wearing Mort Winkerbean’s skin. What godawful drawing–Burchett should be ashamed. Contrast that with Dinkle’s face in panel two–he gets the full “handsome” treatment, as well as a little action whip-around.
By slicing out a quarter of Mort’s face–
–he actually looks like a person. I’d like to think that Burchett drew him more like this, and Batiuk said “Damn it, Burchett, how dare you draw any character other than Les, Dinkle and Lisa as a normal human being!! I want all those sons-o-bitches looking like a non-human monster! Just like all the women should be fat and frowsy with Muppet faces!!! Do you like getting paid?! Cut it up and do it over!!”
What a loathsome thing Dinkle is–as I’ve said way too many times, of all the cast in this miserable comic, Dinkle is the one I hate the most. He always triumphs, he’s always praised, and always beloved. He’s one of the reasons this strip will never be noteworthy.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
All the Old Dudes
Sucks about Bill, but I doubt his absence should have much effect on the Bedside Manorisms’ sound. In a rare instance of continuity, the BMs’ current lineup is the same one they had when we met them two years ago: “Gimme Oxygen” Carl on trumpet; “Cataract Walt” on clarinet; Iris, whom I am taking to be the drummer because for some reason I imagine a drummer’d be more likely than our unnamed violinist to smoke “medical” weed, who remains; and of course ol’ Mort “My Alzheimer’s is But a Distant Memory” Winkerbean on the trombone.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
Iris is Irie
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.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
Candy Man Comes Around. Again.
Members of any band under the baton of “Noble” laureate Harry Dinkle are compelled to support the enterprise by going door to door peddling turkeys, books, and that sweet, sweet Belgian chocolate. Even a member who uses a walker and who several years ago couldn’t recognize his own son.
Filed under Son of Stuck Funky
Son of Stuck Funky 
