Category: Son of Stuck Funky

This Week In Act IV: More Montoni’s

Guess what?

After an internal discussion, Son of Stuck Funky has decided that we will do regular updates again.

Because Crankshaft has officially become Act IV of Funky Winkerbean. We’ve been tracking it that way for awhile, and this week seemed like the right time to make it official. For me, this week was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And I was the first to advance the idea of doing regular updates again, so maybe I’m the most sensitive of our team members. But they’re all on board with it!

Continue reading “This Week In Act IV: More Montoni’s”

The Two Scariest Words In The Funkyverse

It’s been over a month since Harriet promised you an epic screed from me, about the three weeks Crankshaft spent on three different book signings (two for Dinkle and one for Batton Thomas). I haven’t delivered it yet, because I said I wanted to make sure the arc was over.

It wasn’t over. It’s still not over yet. It may not be over for months. Continue reading “The Two Scariest Words In The Funkyverse”

Well Exercised Futility.

Since Crankshaft is still languishing in a Dinkle tinged purgatory, and since tornado watches had me part homebound today, (my neck of the woods was spared,) I spent some time with my Complete Funky Winkerbean volumes this afternoon. Because if Batiuk is gonna drag out the taxidermized horse of Claude Barlow, World’s Worst Composer, and whip the desiccated carcass around for a week, I’m gonna hide in my archives and soothe myself with digging through the dumb running gag’s origins.

Last month, I did a post on Dinkle’s history as an author where I touched on Claude for a bit. But at that time I still didn’t have the volume where I could definitively point to a strip as the first mention of the composer. On April 28, 1976 we get the first mention of a book on greatest band directors, which quickly turns, classic Dinkle style, into egocentric self-aggrandizement. There were only a handful of strips of Great Band Directors.

April 29, 1976
Continue reading “Well Exercised Futility.”