I’ve been thoroughly enjoying all of you commenting on the shambling abomination that is Crankenstein’s Monster. It’s horror beyond imagination in the funny papers these days as Batiuk once again drags Lisa’s battered and abused corpse out to puppet around and demands Davis stitch it onto the recycled art patchwork of long dead gags that makes up modern day Crankshaft. Lisa Moore’s been more abused post mortem than poor Elmer McCurdy.
But at least when Les Moore does his dramatic dance of interpretive grief all over her grave, we know that Lisa is well and truly dead.
I had to make a decision on my last DCH John Howard post. Because there were two rabbit holes presented, and I knew I could only tumble down one that day. So we fell down the Skip Townes hole and got to read some ancient Funky Winkerbean strips that were actually funny.
Today, instead of continuing the story of Mooch Myers Swindles an Old Lady, I’d like to take the second option, and tumble down another hole. The one presented to me by this strip.
Moochy boy compares Lillian McKenzie’s boxes of a couple thousand yellowed Timely issues flopping around in her hot Ohio attic to The Edward Church Collection.
You guys are killing it in the comments section over this courtroom drama arc! I was kinda bummed I missed out on some of the Free Speech fun due to important transport related issues the last couple days.
As in, transporting the spring calving cows and babies to their summer pasture. So for Mela and all you other city slickers who enjoy the Farm Progress Report, the promised round up photos!
Pairs in the corral, ready for sorting. The red cow in front and her calf were sorted off along with a few other pairs, and any cows that didn’t have calves, just so the pasture wouldn’t get overloaded. The red cow is one of our older girls. How old? I don’t know, but I’d believe anything between 14 to 20.
The calves sorted off in our little calving shed. We haul them separate from the cows in just case a calf slips in the trailer. Don’t want the little babies squished! The one in the very front has a funny spot on his nose, probably from some Simmental genes.
That old red cow was sorted off partially because she has a habit of being a massive pain in the butt to get into the corral at the end of the season. She’s not crazy wild, or aggressive. She just doesn’t feel the need to go with the herd, no matter how good the bait my dad is offering.
Back-to-back single panel strips in a garbage dump arc…for shame, Tom, for shame. More wry self-deprecation AND a malaprop, too, plus, as an added bonus, Batton Thomas just inexplicably standing there, grinning stupidly. Maybe his dumb comic strip wouldn’t be in “the last row” if he’d go home and, you know, work on the damn thing instead of loitering around a comic book studio all day.
Son of Stuck Funky 