Banana Jr. 6000

Destroy Everything You Touch

After wandering through the wreckage of the abysmal Eugene and Lucy story, this week’s Crankshaft explored Harry Dinkle’s alleged self-esteem issues. We will talk about both of these stories today, how they’re connected, and how this led me to a surprising realization about my own life.

There are two important bits of background. The first is Lucy’s Story, which explains what the abysmal Eugene and Lucy story actually is.

Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl likes boy, boy is drafted into World War II, boy snail-mails marriage proposal containing “no response means no” clause, jealous older sister hides that letter, girl has mental breakdown, boy and girl somehow go another 60+ years without ever discussing the topic again, girl dies in 2009, boy is still longing for girl in 2026, boy has to move to a new home at age 99, Crankshaft readers wonder if they’ll ever find out where boy will be living now. (There will be a follow-up post about that.)

I know that summary got strange, but this is a strange storytelling world. If you asked the author to explain, he would say “It’s called writing.”

The other is Leaving Westview, which turned out to be perfect prologue for what I’m about to say. I’ll repost the important part:

I said or did every one of these things. For real. For real for real.

And now:

Narshe’s great Part 3 of Summer’s backstory included this strip:

While this looks creepy on the surface – and is being done by a known creep – it is perfectly appropriate. We saw in the previous post that Lisa died on October 4, 2007. This is 15 days after that. It’s an emotionally powerful comic strip, which Funky Winkerbean was capable of producing sometimes.

But nothing will ever make Les Moore stop sniffing his dead wife’s clothes. Not 20+ years. Not a marriage to another woman. Not raising a mixed family, both racially and in the step-parenting sense. Not a phone call from Lisa from beyond the grave. Not a house that seemed to generate new Lisa artifacts every couple years. Not being handed a freaking Oscar trophy for a Hollywood movie about Lisa, which Les was sabotaging at every turn. Not other chances Les had to work through his grief.

Les smelling Lisa’s clothes is accurate and quite sympathetic. The aromas left from loved ones onto clothing, triggers memories in a very powerful way.
SorialPromise, https://sonofstuckfunky.com/2026/07/08/surprise-youre-on-cancer-camera/#comment-182055

This is very true. A scent or a sound or song or a noise or a place or an object can trigger long-forgotten emotions, and turn you back into the person you were when you were having those emotions.

My first experience with this was when I was 21 and in college. I’d had a particularly triumphant night out clubbing with my best friend, Todd. We were staying at his parents’ house, and when we got there, they had some cheap bathroom product. The scent reminded me of my high school girlfriend, Susan, whose bathroom had that same product. I had no active feelings about Susan at that point. But the scent of flowers and petrochemicals in a $1.50 pharmacy item turned me from a young man happy about a rare successful night meeting women into… well, Eugene.

I recently had this experience again. Something very specific reminded me of my high school The One Who Got Away story (analogous to the Eugene-Lucy story), which helped me finally understand why she got away (the Dinkle story). This is all about people and things I haven’t thought about in a very, very, very long time. Which led me to into even deeper rabbit holes in my own head. And it finally showed me the bottom of the rabbit hole.

I’ll try to keep my story from getting too cringe. But today, I’d rather be cringe than whitewash uncomfortable realities. So buckle your seatbelts. This flight will be experiencing turbulence. Trauma dump up ahead.

I went to an emotionally abusive Christian elementary school that gleefully took a flamethrower to my self-esteem. I was a shy and introverted child by nature. The people my parents trusted to educate me used me as an object of ridicule and scorn. That piled an avalanche of self-doubt, which I didn’t previously have, on top of my shyness.

Long story short, the Christian school shunned me. And I have no idea why. Apparently, at some point between 6th and 7th grade, somebody decided I wasn’t the kind of Christian they wanted their Christian school to produce. Even though I was an agreeable child who did everything he was told, read the Bible, and got mostly A’s. But I’d already seen them do the same thing to other kids who deserved no such treatment either. There seemed to be about one kid a year who randomly got on the school’s bad side. It made no sense to me. And Christian schools aren’t in the business of teaching the critical thinking skills that might result in someone questioning their judgement.

So I’ve been dealing with self-esteem problems most of my life. Mine were caused by that very specific and identifiable thing. It wasn’t a combination of factors, or a vague, whiny Freudian Excuse like Crankshaft is pushing this week.

Funky Winkerbean appealed to me in 1988 because I related to Les Moore’s high school struggles, as depicted in the above strips. It was the only thing in media that seemed to understand what was going on in my head. So when its attempt at ripping off Peanuts ended with the girl wishing Les had asked her out, I felt personally betrayed. Even 16-year-old me didn’t believe that. That was the day I became a critic. It is my villain origin story. Mwahahahahaha!

I also shared something with adult Act II (1992-2006) Les Moore: wanting to be a writer, because of my perceived skill at it. I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up. It appealed to my writing skills, my sense of justice, and my failure to foresee that newspapers would become an obsolete medium. I would ultimately get a college degree in journalism, with a broadcasting focus. I promptly switched careers to Information Technology in adulthood, which I still work in today.

I’m honestly embarrassed to tell this story, because 50-something men should not be still processing failed high school relationships. But it’s too important to the larger story to omit, gloss over, or be vague about. And it’s a universe less creepy than anything Eugene does. More importantly, I refuse to worry about embarrassing myself anymore, for reasons I will soon make clear. So let’s go.

In high school in 1988 or 1989, I had creative a writing class in 2nd period, and journalism/high school newspaper class in 5th period. In both those classes was a girl named Christine. I still remember her last name; it was similar to that of a 1980s game show host.

One day, out of nowhere, Christine approached me before 2nd hour Creative Writing class about needing to talk, with this look on her face like it was something really important. I couldn’t imagine what this could be about, but I didn’t want to deal with it right then, so I said “talk to me in 5th hour.”

The truth is: despite my general cluelessness about how these things worked, I sensed Christine was going to tell me she had a crush on me. For some reason, I didn’t want that. And there was no logical explanation. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this girl. Not even by the sadistic social standards of high school. (Cindy Summers, I’m looking at you.)

I really liked Christine as a person. We worked together on the school newspaper. She was pretty. She was nice. She got along with people. She had no off-putting qualities. We had the same sense of humor. Considering that my defining trait in high school was doing open mic nights at legitimate adult comedy clubs, that should have been huge. (It was the late 80s. Everybody, including me, was trying to be the next George Carlin. Too bad none of us ever succeeded. Well, maybe Jon Stewart a little.)

By the time 5th hour arrived, I still didn’t want to deal with it, so I avoided her. The next day, we went back to being flirty/friendly with each other. That status quo remained for the rest of high school. But she never directly approached me again after that day. After graduation, we went our separate ways.

I tossed my high school yearbook in the trash decades ago. But I recently remembered what she wrote in it. “…and remember the girl who always STARES at you! Love, Christine.” With the game show host’s surname in place of her own, because that was a running gag between us. My God, how many times did this poor girl whack me with the clue-by-four?

But I had severe self-esteem problems. So severe that I sabotaged a potential relationship that I actually wanted. The idea that a desirable girl had a genuine interest in me made no sense in my mind.

It’s hard enough to approach the opposite sex when you’re an introverted, awkward, not-terribly-attractive teen. It’s impossible when you’re mentally convinced there’s zero chance of success, and that any failure will end with you being dragged in front of another classroom for another round of humiliation. So I friend-zoned myself. I threw away the chance to make a sweet, intelligent, pretty, funny girl I genuinely liked my first girlfriend. When all I had to do was stand there and let her initiate it.

I was so convinced of my own worthlessness that I couldn’t let that happen. I blocked her like Dikembe Mutombo.

I never rejected Christine. I rejected myself. I played the parts of both Lucy and Lillian. Christine tried to send me a love letter, and I hid it from myself. It was the most honest case of “it’s not you, it’s me” in the history of relationships.

That’s what a self-esteem problem looks like. So watching Crankshaft throw a pity party for Harry goddamn Dinkle severely pisses me the fuck off.

Harry Dinkle is not a person who had childhood trauma and self-esteem problems. Harry Dinkle is a person who caused childhood trauma and self-esteem problems in thousands of people over his career. (Including the elderly choralists who are following him on this journey.) He plays the role of the Christian school in my story. Not the victim.

Dinkle’s ego must be fed at all times, and doesn’t care how many people he has to grind up for meat. He’s a pervert, and this is how he gets his rocks off. The Colonel Khadafi outfit he wore like fetish gear doesn’t disprove that theory. And, as is often the case, he’s protected by a system that refuses to do anything about it.

What the Christian school did to me in 1983 made me reject Christine in 1989, and I didn’t even realize that until 2026. She liked me, and I liked her, but I rejected her. Why?

Because the Christian school psychologically abused me.

Now, I want to be very clear about a few things. One, there was never any sexual or physical component to this abuse. It was psychological only. Two, I had/still have a great family that was very loving and supportive about the whole ordeal, who made the right move. They yanked me out of that Christian school overnight, and put me in public middle school.

I probably could have used some counseling, but I think they didn’t know how to help me, and I definitely didn’t know how to ask for help. On top of all the debris that was in my head, I could be a difficult child in my own right sometimes.

Third, the psychological abuse was mostly traceable to one teacher at that Christian school. I don’t want to say that person’s name, because I’m afraid I might summon them, like Voldemort. So let’s leave that person in damnatio memoriae. And in hell, where they no doubt are today, according to the rules of their own belief system.

This is how abuse perpetuates itself. Someone hurt me, which ultimately made me hurt someone else (even though declining interest in a relationship is not a hurtful act if done tactfully). I never realized until now that tearing myself down, which was basically my coping mechanism, was also painful for the people who cared about me to watch. No wonder some them gave up on me.

Six years ago, I wrote this about the Dinkle family Thanksgiving:

Look how many details in this strip are about (Harry) Dinkle’s toxic workaholism. The house decoration and the choice of Thanksgiving meal are based on his career. The annual band turkey sale makes Harry tired of turkey, so turkey must not be served, no matter what anybody else wants. His daughter entered the same career as him, so you can guess what the table conversation is going to be about.

Look at (Dinkle’s wife) Harriet’s face as she presents the Thanksgiving non-turkey. Her weary eyes seem to be seeking his approval. Her daughter gives her companion an aside glance, as if to say “see, I warned you it’d be like this.” He seems to respond in kind, as if acknowledging he’s seen this in his own family. Harry is genuinely happy, because everything revolves around him, exactly as it should. And everyone knows it better stay that way.

This is the Thanksgiving of a family that revolves around a selfish, obsessive narcissist. And it’s a common theme in Funky Winkerbean.

This is the guy we’re supposed to feel sorry for, because “his stepfather was rough on his father”? Well, let me say this as clearly as possible:

Get the fuck out of my fucking face with that fucking bullshit.

I called this post Destroy Everything You Touch, because that’s what Tom Batiuk does to every “prestige arc” he gets his grubby, comic book-stained fingers on. His writing is so shallow he trivializes everything he tries writing about. It insults anyone who’s really experienced it. Which is why all those Lisa’s Story collections aren’t selling.

And Batiuk has tried writing about every trauma you could think of. Dementia, layoffs, freedom of speech, domestic terrorism, transsexuality, illiteracy, amputation, “climate damage”, bullying, war, PTSD, alcoholism, racism, coming out of the closet, football-induced CTE, suicide, cancer, and cancer incest. He did childhood self-esteem this week. Most of these things he’s tried writing about at least once.

(Also, musical titles are a recurring theme at this blog. And “Destroy Everything You Touch” is a god-tier banger.)

You. Do not feel. Do not know. What you steal.

Funky Winkerbean and now Crankshaft are misery porn. To the extent misery porn works, it’s because the storyteller spilled their guts onto the paper. Great personal memoirs don’t hold back about embarrassing and personal details that most people wouldn’t want others to know. Their brutal honesty makes them compelling to read, and helpful to people who are going through the same things.

Funky Winkerbean gives us this:

The greatest writer in the Funky Winkerbean universe is a not a man who spills his guts onto the page. It’s a man who’s too emotionally fragile to even read his own wife’s diary. So he passive-aggressives their daughter to reading an entry about her own mother being sexually assaulted. Nice guy, that Les Moore.

(Narshe, I apologize if I spoiled something you were planning to use in Part 4 of your story. But please do use it again. Because this may be the single worst thing Les Moore ever did. And there’s a lot of competition for that crown.)

I consider what happened with Christine the biggest mistake of my life. Not because I’m Eugene, still sad about a girl he lost because he couldn’t be bothered to find out what her actual answer was. But because I lost the better man I might have become a lot sooner if I had given myself a chance in that relationship.

However it might have gone – and unlike Eugene, I make no assumption that life would have been perfect after that – it would have been a net positive. Whatever happened, this girl was never, ever, ever going to humiliate me. Which I now know is what I was really afraid of.

It would have ended amicably, given me confidence and experience, and probably helped me face my inner trauma a lot sooner than I did. Christine would have been a better high school girlfriend for me than Susan was, though Susan was a pretty good one. (Other than some things that were my own fault, which is the nature of high school relationships.) And I would have saved Christine a little rejection and confusion. Lord knows life already gives you enough of that. Especially in high school.

Or maybe I’ve misread this entire situation, and Christine just wanted to tell me my fly was down.

(That was a joke. This story needed to end on a lighter note. And I refuse to second-guess myself anymore.)

One other thing I want to mention, because it ties into the “some things trigger deep memories” theme, and because it’s funny. While I was working through all this, I found a playlist of 1988 hit songs on YouTube, and set it to shuffle. This was the first thing it pulled up:

Mwahahahahaha! I am the Rickroller! You fell right into my devious trap!

I’m kidding. It was actually this:

Debbie Gibson is another woman I hadn’t thought about in 30+ years. Nor has anyone else.

I have no particular memories attached to this song. But the overwhelming 1988-ness of this music video reinforced the feelings I was working through. (This isn’t what initially brought Christine back into my head. It’s not important what that actually was.)

But imagine me, a 54-year-old man, blubbering about a blown high school date while listening to an obnoxiously peppy Debbie Gibson song. That’s a pretty funny visual. Imagine that happening to Jim Carrey in one of his better movies. Or Jack Black. Or Chris Farley, if I’m being honest about who would play me in a movie. (And if I’m being too honest: Rick Moranis, if he ate Chris Farley.) Or it could be treated seriously, in a movie like Fatso.

I hope I didn’t bait-and-switch you. You came here for newspaper comics snark, and I gave you my dead chicken moment. Which is what this feels like: discovering what my real problem was. I’d been trying to find it for 40 years.

This is why I know a lot about neurodivergence, and why I frequently mention it as a factor in the creation of these comic strips. I thought for a long time that my problem was untreated neurodivergence. But I could always recognize emotions and social cues adequately. I just couldn’t act on them, because of my crippling fear of humiliation. I’ve been throwing darts at the wall for decades, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. But I think I just did.

I’d like to leave a few ground rules for the comments:

I’m willing to answer any questions anyone may have, though I reserve the right to be vague or silent about certain things.
Being an abuse victim isn’t my whole identity, and it will not become that. I have accepted that it’s a small part of who I am. But it will not destroy anything it touches, anymore. While I would never question anyone’s approach to processing their own trauma, I personally think some people lean a little too hard into the victim identity.
I realize a lot of people went through a lot worse than me. So there will be no Trauma Olympics.
I’m not looking for a pity party, safe space, psychoanalysis, therapy-speak, or anything like that. I just wanted someone to listen to my story. If you’re reading these words, you’ve done that, and you’ve done me a great service. Thank you. I actually feel really good about this whole thing.
I’m not looking for closure. I consider it closed. I said what I needed to say. The people who have been living rent-free in my head have been evicted.
I am open to reconnecting with Christine, but I’m sure she has a family that wouldn’t appreciate that. It’s not her job to help with my recovery. My only purpose was to document the key role she inadvertently played in fixing something that was very broken in me.
I shouldn’t have to say this, but please do not try to figure out who Christine is, or who I am. There are enough clues that someone with connections to our high school class could figure it out. But I have very little contact with any of those people anyway, I now live 1,300 miles away from my hometown, and I don’t do the social media thing.

Calvin & Hobbes had a terrific story where they try to build a robot, so Calvin doesn’t have to make his bed. Here’s the ending (SPOILER ALERT):

Psychological abuse and self-doubt made me throw away an opportunity to get to know a delightful girl who could have helped me a great deal in life.

And in a way, she did.

Where Is Eugene Moving? Who Cares? It’s A Dinkle Story!

This is the photograph Lillian is looking at in today’s Crankshaft:

Okay, it’s not exactly the same photograph. Today’s version has what appears to be entrance doors where the text appears in the above image. But it’s now obvious where this week’s heavily padded story is going. Lillian is going to notice the name of the bandleader, and connect it to her choir director/former Bedside Manor band director/former Westview High School band director/fascist dictator/World’s Greatest Asshole Harry Dinkle.

It also explains the cryptic, pretentious introduction from Monday’s strip:

We all spent a week wondering what the hell that could possibly mean, in the apparent context of a very old man being forced to move somewhere unpleasant. It means we’re going to explore Dinkle’s daddy issues!

Oh boy. Where to begin?

This is so obvious I’m embarrassed to write it. But one-time Putlizer nominee Tom Batiuk apparently doesn’t know it, so here it is: A very old man awkwardly telling a lifelong friend about “moving to a new place” is a serious topic. It is not a benign piece of information you use to fill space while you get to the more important matter of yet another found photograph of yet another dead person.

I’ve used the word “tonelessness” to describe Tom Batiuk’s writing, and this is another manifestation of it: not knowing what’s important to human beings and what isn’t. This week appeared to be setting up a “move to the retirement home” story. Which can be played for dark humor. But that didn’t happen here either. Nor is Tom Batiuk even remotely capable of this.

It was also unclear why this would have been a bad thing for Eugene. Bedside Manor is a recurring location, and is never depicted negatively. Not even when it should be.

But the uncertain future of a 99-year-old man is irrelevant. Or the reveal is being pushed to the end for some reason that makes sense only to Tom Batiuk. It’s a coin flip whether the story even bothers addressing the matter later on.

The story didn’t even need the tired “found photograph” mechanism, because Eugene’s sad little shoebox also contained this:

That appears to say “Sunrise Over Kilimanjaro by Larry Dinkle.” Lillian could have found this sheet music almost anywhere, recognized the surname, asked Harry about it, and the same story could have progressed from there. This also could have been done in two days, tops. (On a personal note: my first ever blog post complained about Batiuk using days to set up something he could have opened with. It’s filler all the way down.)

I have a lot more thoughts, but let’s take a moment and enjoy what we’ve got here: a genuine Funky Winkerbean Act III-style prestige arc! Have fun in the comments!

Introducing: Funkshi!

I need to wrap up the Batton Thomas prediction contest from last week’s strips. Sorry I’m late, I’ve been busy touring with Weird Al Yankovic:

Much like Weird Al, I’m white and nerdy. Because it’s all about the Pentiums, baby.

Anyway, I need to settle your plays, and “tally the sore”! And I plan to continue this game going forward. I will begin to standardize the game in this post.

I have named this project “Funkshi”, a portmanteau of “Funky” and the “shi” in the popular online prediction market Kalshi. (Don’t take this as an endorsement. I’m very pro-gambling, but I find “online prediction markets” vile. If you have a better name idea, I’m all ears.)

Let’s revisit the original offerings from this post, and get a ruling for each.

G1. When will the next week of the Batton Death March begin? The most recent installment began on May 18. In the future, the wager will offer the upcoming five Mondays as a choice.

G2. Will Skip start the week by making a comment about “continuing the interview”? Skip said “so you talked the last time about…” making this a Yes. The words do not have to be exact.

G3. Where will they meet? Dale Evans. Future bets will have a “field” option, which basically means “none of the above” offered options.

G4. What recording device will Skip use? Skip’s cell phone was visible.

A1. How many times will the

I’d rather have my blood sucked out by leeches.

image be used? Once. (This image really needs a fan nickname.)

A2. Will there be a word balloon that is more than half the size of the panel? This panel was close, but no cigar:

The balloon was 403 x 125 pixels, or 50,375 square pixels. The entire panel is 438 x 281, or 124,108 square pixels. That is the standard it must meet: 50% of the entire panel. Word balloons and panels include the entire balloon (not just the words), but do not include the tail that indicates the speaker, or anything that extends beyond a border (like the Batiuk & Davis signature). The balloon was only 40.9% of the panel, which means the bet loses.

A3. How many flashback images will there be? There were three! It doesn’t matter if they’re real-life flashbacks, a fictional characters’ flashbacks, or Batton Thomas’ flashbacks, which are a little of both.

A4. Will a flashback image include a real person? This is a tough one to judge. One of those images was:

Your sports team is vastly inferior. This simple fact is plainly obvious to see.

Are these real people? Are they fictional high schoolers? You could make a case for either. From now on, the offer will be Will a flashback image include an identifiable person? Also, I’m going to say that Batton Thomas himself doesn’t count as a real person, even if he is doing something Tom Batiuk actually did.

A5. Will there be a sideways strip? The above image was in the sideways strip. I rotated it back to vertical here. I’m not a monster.

A6. What early Tom Batiuk artwork will appear? Narshe confirmed this an early Tom Batiuk artwork, from the Chronicle Teen-Age Page, via Match to Flame 12 at the Batiuk blog. Again, we will add the word “identifiable” to the question.

A7. How many times will Skip smirk? I’m going to remove this one, because it’s too subjective to judge. How many of these are smirks?

There was also a silhouetted Skip I forgot to include in this image.

I would say 6: all but the two right-most ones, which could just be regular smiles. As much as I would love to consider context, this is the Funkyverse, so your guess of the context is as good as mine. Note also that two of these images are identical.

A8. What intellectual property will be appropriated? None this week.

M1. Will Batton mention comic books? He didn’t explicitly, but “Harry Finkle being bitten by a radioactive band director” sounds to me like Spiderman’s origin story. (Or is it Arachnid Man’s?) In the future, Batton must say “comic books”, or name a comic book title.

M2. In which of the following ways will comic books appear? If it they appeared at all, it wasn’t in any of the offered ways. This is another one that will have a “field” option.

M3. Will Batton quote someone? He cites something Charles Schulz said during an interview, but doesn’t technically quote him. Going forward, Batton must repeat the exact words.

M4. Who will Batton name-drop? Schulz. Any explicit mention of a real person counts as a name-drop.

M5. Who will Batton bash? No one this week.

M6. Will Batton act like a complete jackass at some point? M7. Will Batton talk about doing actual work on Three O’Clock High or The Wrinkles? These are also vague, but they can stay because they’re jokey enough that the answer can be assumed. They also only pay .0001 point each. Take it and get out of here.

Consider this a “money line” bet on a ludicrously heavy favorite, like a bet that Ohio State will beat Kent State in football this fall. They don’t have to beat the point spread; just win the game. You can make that kind of bet at a real gambling house, but it pays laughably little when you win. I suspect it would be about -100000, which means “bet $1000 to win $1.”

M8. How many of the seven deadly sins will Batton commit? I will not offer this wager in the future, because it isn’t a good thing to bet on.

Batton always commits certain sins by his mere existence (Pride, Envy) and never others (Wrath, Lust). I ruled that Gluttony is largely a factor of if they’re at Montoni’s, and if they eat it. Greed comes into play if somebody finds yet another a priceless comic book lying around. As for Sloth, that one’s a bit meta. I think the mere presence of the A1 bet implies that Sloth exists in Crankshaft, at least in the creation of it. But I don’t want to reconcile layers of meta-content to judge these plays.

So who won the inaugural contest, and who lost on Jeopardy? Let’s judge now. The rules were:

Make choices, and score a total number of points based on the difficulty of the prediction. -1 point for any incorrect choice.

In the future, you can miss up to 5 choices before losing any points. But for the first week, we must honor the rules as they were written. Also, some of you made the bets that I have since declared too ambiguous to judge. For the first round, I will be very lenient about paying off winners. I’ll accept any bet that’s close enough, even if the offer required an exact match. In some cases, different answers to the same question can both win.

Y. Knott: A1. Two or more times (-1). A7. 7 (+1; close enough.) M3. Yes (+1; again, in the future it must be more specific, but I’m allowing it this time.) M4. (-1). M6. Yes (+.0001). M7. Yes (+.0001). M8. (+1; close enough). Total: 1.0002.

CSRoberto: G2: No (-1). G4: pen and paper (-1). A1: at least twice (-1). M6: Definitely so (+.0001). M7. No. (+.0001) M8. (+1). Total: -1.9998

Iansdrunkenbeard: G1 – May 18 (+1). G2 – Yes (+1). G3 – Sentinel office (-1). G4– cell phone (+1). A1 – 2 or more (-1). A2 – more than one (-1). A3 – 1 (-1) A4 – No (+1, because it’s could be either). A5 – No (-1). A6 – Pre Funky (+1; we don’t know what this artwork actually is, but I’ll count it). A7 – 7 (+1; close enough) A8 – DC or Marvel (-1) M1 – More than once (-1; even if you count Finkle’s origin story, it was mentioned only once). M2 – Writing for comic books (-1). M3 – No (+1; again, it’s ambiguous). M4 – Milt Caniff (-1). M6 – Yes (+.0001). M7 – No (+.0001). M8 – 6 (-1; he definitely didn’t commit Lust or Wrath, which eliminates 6 as a possibility). Total: -2.9998.

[o]: G1. May 11 (-1). G2. No. (-1). G3. Westview HS (-1). G4. None. (-1) A1. At least three times (-1). A2. More than one (-1). A3. Only one (-1). A4. Yes (-1). A5. No (-1). A6. FW Act 1 art (-1; it isn’t identifiably Act I art). A7. 5.(+1; close enough.) A8. None (+1. Even if Batton is referencing Spider-Man’s origin story, that’s not the same as “appropriating intellectual property.”) M1. No (+1). M2. None of the above (+1). M3. Flash Fairfield (-1). M4. Flash Fairfield (-1). M5. (+1, the band members in the sideways are depicted as dumb). M6. Yes (+.0001). M7. Yes* (-1). M8. How many of the seven deadly sins will Batton commit? Just pride and sloth. (+1; close enough) Total: -7.9999.

So the Week 1 champion is Y. Knott! Iansdrunkenbeard got off to a great start, but had too many misses overall. And, there’s a lesson here about gambling: four people gambled, and only one of them made a profit. Plus, as always, the house.

Caption Contest!

What is Keesterman saying?

This is just the last panel of today’s Crankshaft strip, with the tail of the word zeppelin pointing where it should. (And with a ridiculous coloring error fixed.)

The artwork looks more like Keesterman should be speaking, doesn’t it? It’s practically a reverse angle of the May 19 strip, where Batton and Skip are the foreground characters. Which they should be, since they’re focus of the ~~dialogue~~ monologue. Today’s strip has the background characters doing the talking, even though they’ve been the focus characters this entire week.

This is such a grade school-level composition failure, that it looks like Tom Batiuk is passive-aggressively making a point to the “where’s Crankshaft?” crowd. “Oh, you want more Crankshaft? Fine! I’ll make him the biggest character on the page, while I continue talking about what I want to talk about!” I wonder how Mr. Batiuk, the young art teacher, would have graded this if one of his students submitted it.

Also: why do Ed, Ralph, and Keesterman all look like they’re talking? Only one of them should be talking. Ralph appears to be taking a bite. But his expression doesn’t match that action, unless that is the wryest piece of apple pie in culinary history.

When I made that Luann crossover parody, I spent a lot of time editing mouths, so that only the person speaking had their mouth open. And Tom Batiuk can’t put in that level of effort? Even when his entire comic strip can be built from Colorforms at this point? And when he’s getting paid to do this, and I’m not?

The Game Is On!

That insufferable jackass Batton Thomas is back to drone on about nothing while Skip pays rapt attention. Which means it’s time to evalulate the bets I solicited!

G1. When will the next week of the Batton Death March begin? May 18. One point if you got it right.

G2. Will Skip start the week by making a comment about “continuing the interview”? Skip said “so you talked the last time about…,” so that’s a Yes. One point if you got it right. He doesn’t have to say those exact words.

G3. Where will they meet? Not 100% confirmed, but it looks like Montoni’s, which is worth half a point. I’m sure Mindy will be by on Wednesday to drop off the pizza. (TUESDAY UPDATE: The presence of Ed, Ralph, and Keesterman in the background suggests they are at Dale Evans instead. And maybe that Batiuk is feeling some pressure to at least pretend Ed Crankshaft is still the main character.)

G4. What recording device will Skip use? Skip’s cell phone is visible. Half a point.

A7. How many times will Skip smirk? Wow, twice already, and it’s only Monday. We’ll count again at the end of the week.

M4. Who will Batton name-drop? Nobody yet, but I’m going to make a ruling that it has to be a real person. His “band director character” is obviously Dinkle, but that’s not what I’m looking for here.

M6. Will Batton act like a complete jackass at some point? Of course, he already has. Take your .0001 point and get out of here.

M7. Will Batton talk about doing actual work on Three O’Clock High or The Wrinkles? He mentions Bizarro Dinkle becoming popular, but that’s not the same as doing actual work. So not yet, but it could still happen this week.

M8. How many of the seven deadly sins will Batton commit? I’m counting today’s strip as Gluttony. Batton has spoken at so many potluck dinners that he got Tupperware poisoning, implying that he must have consumed a massive amount of the food there.

Also, I’m going to make a general ruling here: simply meeting at Montoni’s counts as Gluttony. Dale Evans, by itself, doesn’t count as gluttony, since they have some non-gluttonous offerings. Even if they’re just things Ed Crankshaft orders to do one of his stupid puns.

That’s everything I can evaluate so far, because the others are weeklong totals, or they are for events that can still happen later this week. By the end of the week (including a possible Sunday), this post will be a complete list of all the wagers that were offered. And I’ll tally up a winner of those of you who made selections.

Ian’s Drunken Beard is the early leader:

G1 – May 18

G2 – Yes

G4 – cell phone

M6 – Yes

That’s 2.5001 points! And some of his other plays like “7 smirks” and “6 deadly sins” look pretty good so far.

After this week, I’ll calculate the totals, and standardize the set of offerings going forward.

WEDNESDAY UPDATE: We have a sideways panel, and some early artwork. That would fulfill the following:

A5. Will there be a sideways strip? 1 point, of 5 if there is a second one later this week.

A6. What early Tom Batiuk artwork will appear? This appears to be real-life pre-Funky Winkerbean artwork, which is worth 1.5 points if we can confirm it. Let me know if you can, or there’s a blog post explaining it.

THURSDAY UPDATE: Today we learn that “Harry Finkle” will straight-up commit murder, Crankshaft-Pop Clutch style, to sell band candy. Surprisingly, this doesn’t violate any new deadly sins. It’s not Wrath, because it’s not motivated by hatred. There doesn’t seem to be a deadly sin that covers what we would modern law would call “criminal negligence” or “involuntary manslaughter.”

Which makes me question whether the 7 Deadly Sins bet is viable. Batton either breaks them constantly (Pride, Sloth); never breaks them (Wrath); or are things Tom Batiuk would never have one of his own “good” characters do (Lust). Gluttony is largely a function of where/what they’re eating. Greed only manifests itself in the Funkyverse in the form of highly valuable comic books. As for Envy, Batton doesn’t commit this sin so much as he inspires others to commit it. The encounter with his wannabe rockstar neighbor right after he got his cartoonist gig is a perfect example.

I’ll honor the wager for this week, but I don’t think it’ll be part of the game going forward. (And yes, there will be a game going forward.)

FRIDAY UPDATE: We have the Batton face! That hits the easiest target on wager A1.

SATURDAY UPDATE: That word zeppelin isn’t quite big enough to fulfill A2. Will there be a word balloon that is more than half the size of the panel?

I will post a final tally after Sunday’s strip. (Sunday strips count, if the strip is related to the Batton Thomas interviews.)