Crankshaft – Son of Stuck Funky

Here We Are Now, Entertain Us

I went to all the trouble of setting up a Batton Thomas betting pool, with options like “Will Skip start the week by making a comment about continuing the interview?” And the prick just rudely shows up on a Wednesday, hijacking a harmless week at Komix Korner. And re-uses that same smug drawing we’ve seen a dozen times by now.

How on earth did I fail to offer the option “yet another smug, insufferable book signing and not the actual interview”? In retrospect, that should be a standing offer in this wagering house. The Funkyverse is an endless parade of book signings for books no one would ever ready, by people who are incapable of writing them. My joss paper theory seems more plausible by the day.

(To make a house ruling: this week will not count as a Batton Death March week. So none of those wagers will be evaluated until the next fully-focused Batton Thomas interview week.)

If Tom Batiuk fulfills any promise to his readers, it’s the meta-promise he inadvertently makes to us snarkers: that his unhinged storytelling choices will be bizarrely entertaining. Who could forget Zanizbar, the talking, cigar-smoking murder chimp? Or Darrin’s decision to make a child’s toy of the handgun that killed that child’s own grandfather? Or Cindy’s late-life pregnancy, which was never resolved in any way? Or that this tiny town would have two people with almost-identical amputations, and no character would ever once comment on that? Or Timemop, and “humanity is our nation”?

But this kind of crazy is becoming less and less frequent. I often compare the Funkyverse to the infamous movie The Room. Crankshaft now feels more like 2010: The Year We Made Contact. Stanley Kubrick’s original 2001: A Space Odyssey could be dense and tedious at times, but it was also memorable and trippy, and told a strong story if you put the effort in. The sequel lost all the weird stuff, and told a straightforward, So Okay It’s Average story about interstellar Cold War cooperation, 20 years after the Soviet Union ended in real life. (The John Lithgow space walk scene is outstanding, though.)

The Funkyverse seems to be undergoing entropy. Its internal structure, what little there ever was, seems to be breaking down. I’ll tell you what I mean.

On June 1, 2024 – almost two years ago now – this blog made the decision to continue publishing, on grounds that Crankshaft was looking like a continuation of everything we that made the Funkyverse so compelling. And sometimes, it lived up to that meta-promise. The Burnings was probably the high/low point: an overhyped story about an out-of-date controversy, that did little more than demonstrate Les Moore’s complete immunity to the tiniest amounts of pushback.

But Batiuk has not been fulfilling that meta-promised. He has left certain tropes, like Atomix Komix and even Dead Lisa, mostly in Defuncty Winkerbean. Narshe recently gave an updated rotation of the frequent topics in Act IV Crankshaft:

– Batton Death March week
– Ed malapropisms week
– Jeff as a stand-in for Batiuk to lament something related to his interests week
– Montoni’s week
– [Emily and Amelia] manager for [Lillian] week
– Dinkle week
– Idiots at a book signing week
Narshe

That’s pretty accurate, though I would add two more to that list. The first one is a category I call the Legitimate Crankshaft Week. These are weeks that were just like what this strip contained before Funky ended. “Ed malapropism week” is the most common of these, making it a super-category to one of Narshe’s categories. But even native Crankshaft stories are less creative than they used to be. They’re usually propping up some lame premise like “bus driver shortage” for another milking.

The other new type is the miscellaneous week. These used to be rare, happening mostly at year’s end. But we’ve seen more and more weeks of generic, unrelated gags. And weeks that simply don’t adhere to the traditional Monday to Saturday schedule. The recent “Ed tries to scam eclipse observers” story ended on a Monday.

On a related note, I’ve been updating the “Act IV” menu that summarizes each week of post-2022 Crankshaft. And there’s barely anything to write anymore. If I can describe a week of this comic strip as “unrelated gags,” is the whole thing even worth talking about anymore? Is the entire system breaking down too much to be recognizable, even by our own definitions of what is entertaining about it?

Pavlovian Noises Of General Approval

Josh Fruhlinger’s April Fool’s Day post at Comics Curmudgeon included this remark:

This is just another example of (the main characters of Intelligent Life) responding to any cultural reference they recognize with a sort of Pavlovian noise of general approval.
April Fool’s Comics – The Comics Curmudgeon

I’ve been thinking a lot about that phrase, “Pavlovian noise of general approval.” For our purposes, I take the word Pavlovian to mean “expressing a conditioned or predictable reaction.”

Which got me to wondering: is this blog just Pavlovian noises of general disapproval? Are we just throwing red meat at people who enjoy that particular flavor of red meat? Are we no better than the clucking, smirking, comic book-addicted clones of the Funkyverse, who stand around agreeing with each other that all Tom Batiuk’s personal tastes are really neat-o?

I think we are better. And I’ll tell you why.

If you pay $5 to go to a live show, a social contract emerges. You, the ticket-buyer, have an expectation that you will be entertained. You trust the venue to arrange a series of skilled performers that are worth $5 of your money, and two hours of your time. If they don’t deliver, you will be dissatisfied, and advise others not to visit.

The venue probably has expectations of you as well. They may have a dress code; rules about what substances you’re allowed to consume (or possibly required to consume, in the form of a two-drink minimum); and that you don’t disrupt the show to an unacceptable degree.

In comedy clubs, heckling is a part of the show, but there are well-understood standards about what’s too far. I’ve also known comedy clubs to forbid the use of certain words and subject matter. Because there’s a social contract between comedians and clubs as well: break our rules, and we’ll ruin your reputation.

Now think about newspaper comics. There’s a social contract here as well. If we turn to the comics page, then we, the readers, have the right to expect that the cartoonists have made a reasonable attempt to entertain us. We don’t pay that $5 cover charge, but we do invest a little time every day. But when we open the funny pages, what do we see? Roots country music. One man indulging his sexual fetishes. Incoherent sports drama. A parody of an 87-year-old movie. Millennial-bashing, raised to the level of gaslighting. NASCAR jokes that wouldn’t be good enough for a children’s joke book. Whatever Judge Parker is nowadays.

Who the hell is the target audience for any of that?

And I’m not even including strips like Beetle Bailey, Blondie, Curtis, Doonesbury, Garfield, Hagar The Horrible, Herb and Jamaal, Hi and Lois, the aforementioned Intelligent Life, and the many Z-grade Far Side clones. I’m not even including other strips I’m usually critical of: Luann, Mary Worth, and Pluggers. All these strips at least try to honor the social contract of being worth 10 seconds of your time. Though the word “try” is doing a lot of work here.

Now to Funky Winkerbean. It has three clearly defined eras: Act I, when it was a solid satire of high school life; Act II, when it shifted to drama but was still worth following; and Act III, when it became a self-indulgent shitshow about book signings, comic book covers, and multi-month self-interviews.

Who the hell is the target audience for any of those things?

I suspect most of us followed this pattern: liked Funky Winkerbean in Act I, tolerated it in Act II, and were disgusted by it in Act III. The social contract broke down in stages. It went from something that was pretty good, to something that was at least worth 10 seconds a day, to something that angers us so much that we spend a lot more seconds a day hating it.

And now Crankshaft seems to be trying to make people hate it.

Predictably Unpredictable: The Max And Hannah Story

Would it be possible to have a post on this blog that does a deep dive into Max and Hannah’s relationship? At least the highlights, like when they met, started dating, started living together, and had a baby. Mostly, I’m trying to figure out if we were supposed to know that they weren’t already married.
https://sonofstuckfunky.com/2026/03/03/in-like-a-lamb/#comment-180197

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

And, just for fun, I’ll give everyone a chance to guess each major story point as it arrives. The answer to each question will be revealed right after the poll question. So, to avoid spoilers, don’t scroll past each question. And I’d appreciate it if you did avoid spoilers, because I’d love to know how well our visitors collectively can guess Tom Batiuk’s intentions.

Our deep dive begins in 2003, because that’s the earliest Crankshaft archives are available at GoComics.com. Max’s first appearance in this time frame is November 2003, when Max arrives for family Thanksgiving. Mindy is still in high school, and Rose is still alive, as is Lucy McKenzie. Max is wearing his college sweatshirt. Which is question #1:

Seriously, answer the poll question before reading on. Try to guess!

In a stunning upset right out of March Madness, Max graduated from Wilmington College in Wilmington, Ohio. The college sweatshirt he often wore at the time said those exact words. So we know it’s not a school with a similar name like UNC-Wilmington, or a fictional school like Bull Bushka’s Enormous Midwestern University.

Also, Max’s graduation photo on June 3, 2006 resembles the entrance to the real-life school. And let’s be honest: the Ohio-based school was always the favorite.

Bear in mind Max’s graduation photo is 20 years old, so it’s not *exactly* the same. But apparently you can still major in red brick. (Courtesy of Google Maps.)

The “Max is in college and Mindy is still in high school” era continued until 2006. Max would sometimes appear at the family home, and in flashbacks, but he didn’t get his own stories. During the week of January 29, 2004, Pam reminisces about a family trip to “Mouse World.” On July 5, 2005, Pam and Jeff revisit Max’s fourth birthday. Interestingly, he requested a clown:

Well, Max asked for a clown, and he got what he asked for.

Pam was pregnant with Mindy at the time, making Mindy about four and a half years younger than Max. This isn’t a Mindy deep dive, but we’ll mention her from time to time. Max and Min’s sibling relationship is unremarkable. They’re not close, but they seem to get along just fine. During this time, Mindy was being urged to get a job. (Unlike, for example, Luann.)

Just as March Madness is full of upsets, it’s also full of games where the obvious choice has a 98.75% chance of being correct. Mindy was hired by Montoni’s on June 29, 2004, and was seen going to work there as late as December 2007. The question included the “full-time” caveat, because Mindy also served as one of Santa’s elves during Ed Crankshaft’s then-annual portrayals of Santa Claus. She was seen in this role on December 15, 2003.

Max attended family Thanksgiving again in 2006. On December 17, 2007, Max is seen leaving for a date, but we don’t know with whom. On February 11, 2008, Max seeks romantic advice from Ed Crankshaft, but no potential partner is named. Both of these were throwaway strips rather than being part of an arc.

Max gets his first real story on March 25, 2008, when he moves into an apartment. Pam says she realized that Max would “move out”, implying that he lived in his parents’ house after college graduation. Max’s random appearances were a little more frequent in 2006-07, so this checks out. Hannah isn’t a part of Max’s life yet. And she won’t be anytime soon.

On September 8, 2008, Jeff says:

We never learn whose wedding this was, because this was just to set up a week of complaining about getting your car serviced.

December 1, 2008 is our first look into Max’s career. Max announces tells the family he “has been given a show to direct”, even though this is the first we’ve heard of him having a job in television. The show airs at 4 a.m, and is called Living With Nature, starring Channel 1 veteran Phil the Forecaster.

So we can add yet another name to the list of Funkyverse characters who instantly became professional content creators. My own college degree was in broadcast news, and getting your own TV show at age 25-ish would be very, very unusual. Even for this kind of ultra-cheap local public affairs show that runs at 4 a.m. You have to pay your dues more than that.

Mindy graduated high school in summer 2009, and she would go to Kent State that fall. Her parents planned a high school graduation party, but oh no! The caterer got the days mixed up! What can they do?

The #1 seed wins again. Ed fired up his grill, but you can guess how that went. Mindy ordered from Montoni’s. No mention is made of the fact that Mindy worked for, and maybe still did work for, Montoni’s.

In June 2009 we learn that Max has a history of smoking. Rose takes up smoking at this time, and it is revealed that she found some old cigarettes that were once Max’s.

On December 1, 2014, Ralph Meckler laments that he has to close the Valentine Theater “after this week”, setting up a predictable bunch of moping about how good things never last. Of course, this is the same Valentine Theater that Max and Hannah have operated the past few years.

We’ll answer this question in a moment…

…but you can probably guess from this next piece of information. Hannah’s first mention in Crankshaft wasn’t until February 15, 2016.

Max reveals that Hannah is “someone he’s seeing from work.” We see her for the first time two days later.

The following week, they go on a date to the Valentine Theater. They meet Ralph Meckler, who is still running the place. Which means the correct answer was “Not 2014.” And not in a pedantic way, as if the theater held out a couple more weeks and closed in early 2015. After a week of gloom and doom for the Valentine, it must have survived under Ralph for 14 more months.

Ralph is seeking a buyer, which Max and Hannah are independently interested in. On March 7, 2016, they tell Max’s parents this. Pam’s reaction:

This is the first explicit mention of Max and Hannah’s marital status. Max and Hannah went to his parents with “something we’d like to tell you.” So Pam and Jeff were making a reasonable guess about what it was.

Max and Hannah raise enough money through crowdfunding to buy the Valentine Theater. Rose finally died in May 2016 – the day Jeff was about to forgive her, of course, when she’s been feeble for well over a decade. Which also gave us this indelible flashback image:

Any comment from me would just be piling on.

October 10, 2016 was the first week of Max and Hannah fixing up the Valentine Theater. And that’s where our story ends for now, because this is already a long post. Part II is coming soon.

Let’s revisit the quiz questions. Two times Batiuk took the blindingly obvious path, and two times he took the story in a bizarre direction. As if this year’s Final Four will be Duke, UConn, Long Island University, and Central Arkansas. Yes, lesser teams can, and often do, go on deep runs in the NCAA Tournament. But there’s a point below which this has never happened, and is laughably unlikely.

Which is the best analogy for Tom Batiuk’s writing I will ever come up with. Half the time the story is going somewhere stupidly obvious. Half the time it’s going in a completely random direction that defeats Batiuk’s own claims to realism. Which is which? Your guess is as good as mine.

Happy 107th Birthday, Ed Crankshaft!

We interrupt the Crankshaft awards to bring you a breaking story in Major League Baseball!

Bill Mazeroski died this weekend. Mazeroski is a Baseball Hall of Fame member, who hit one of the most famous home runs in baseball history. It was the first ever World Series-winning home run. This has only been done one other time, by Joe Carter in 1993.

Why are we talking about baseball necrology? Because former Major League Baseball player Johnny Lucadello was born on February 22, 1919. Lucadello was also the youngest player on the 1940 Toledo Mud Hens, the real-life baseball team which Ed Crankshaft canonically also played for. (Ed also has a real-life retired jersey number.)

For that reason, I view today as Ed’s birthday, because it’s the latest possible day he could have been born. And I think Lillian McKenzie was in his high school class – because this is the Funkyverse – which makes her well over 100 as well.

Ed’s baseball career, with its early integration experiences, and winter ball in pre-revolution Cuba, fits this time frame. So does Lillian, Lucy, and Eugene being young adults whose lives were interrupted by World War II. So does Pam’s life, centered around the 1970 Kent State shootings. Ed would have been about 30 at her birth.

I want to stress that 107 is the youngest Ed Crankshaft could reasonably be in 2026. The average player in the 1940 American Association, and on the Mud Hens themselves, wasn’t 21 years old: he was 27. If Ed was 27 in 1940, he’d be 113 today. Which would almost make him the world’s oldest man. (Unless Walt Wallet from Gasoline Alley also counts.)

We can’t move Ed’s birthday much later than 1919, because then he’d be too young to be drafted into the military. What if we gave him Joe Nuxhall’s backstory (pitched briefly in the majors at age 15, making Ed’s birth year 1925)? Ed would be way too young to join the military legally, much less be drafted.

Which would have made Crankshaft extremely likely to reach the major leagues, no matter how illiterate he was. MLB teams in 1942-1945 were eager to employ players who weren’t subject to being drafted. And since some were already missing, the standards were lower. A player too young to be drafted, who was also good enough to pitch in AA (the top minor league level at the time), would have been given plenty of chances. Especially on a mediocre team, which the Detroit Tigers and Cleveland Indians (both implied to be the Mud Hens’ parent club at some point) and St. Louis Browns (now the Baltimore Orioles, who was Toledo’s real-life parent club in 1940) were.

The optimal birth year seems to be 1922. That would make Ed 20 in 1942, which is the youngest that would have been drafted that year. So maybe he’s only 104 now. Which would also make him extremely young for AA baseball, and by definition a phenom. But let’s solve one problem at a time here.

So how many inches from reality is Ed Crankshaft’s life?

Out of 35 players on the real-life 1940 Toledo Mud Hens, only two lived to see 2003! They were Jake Wade (1912-2006) and Harry Bailey (1918-2014). Six others made it to the 21st century: Armond Payton (1917-2000), Daniel Scudder (1916-2000), Tommy Criscola (1915-2001), Lucadello (died in 2001), Hal Spindel (1913-2002), and Robert Jones (1916-2002). A ninth player, Harry Kimberlin, died on December 31, 1999 at age 90. Kimberlin was the last former Major League Baseball player to die in the 20th century.

Bill Mazeroski’s famous home run was in 1960. He was born in 1936. He was 89 when he died this year. Ed Crankshaft is 15-20 years older than all of those standards. Look at the photos of Harry Kimberlin and João Marinho Neto in the above links. That is what a very old man looks like.

On top of that, Ed is absurdly active. He still works as a bus driver, bowls regularly, goes out to eat with friends, portrays Santa Claus, sings in a choir, gets into arguments with cartoonists, goes to the fair, has traveled to New York, Winnipeg and Columbus, performs frequent physical feats, and builds an AI-powered smart garden. Very few people on earth have the expertise to build an AI-powered smart garden. And few centenarians on earth have the ability to do any of the other things.

So, Ed, since you like gardening so much, why don’t you dig a 6′ x 3′ x 3′ rectangular hole in the ground? I’m sure we’ll find something useful to do with it. Oops, I mean “you’ll” find something useful to do with it. Happy birthday ~~and many more~~!

We now return you to the Crankshaft awards!

Over Yonder

Voting for the 2025 Crankshaft Award is Still Open!

The Funkyverse has a new corporate sponsor: Yondr!

I previously called this kind of product placement “egola.” It’s like plugola or payola, except that you get paid in self-actualization instead of money. Usually, these are about Tom Batiuk’s weird fandoms (The Phantom Empire, Chad & Jeremy); events that met his ludicrous standards for treating him like a big shot (Ohioana Book Fair, Comic-Con); or both (Winnipeg Blue Bombers, “Montoni’s” pizza).

Yondr doesn’t appear to be any of those things.

Interestingly, Batiuk describes the product correctly. You define a phone-free zone, and instruct visitors to put their phones in the special pouches. The pouches can’t be unlocked until you leave the area, or use the “unlocking base.” You can still hold the phone, hear it, and see it well enough to know if the screen lights up. You can understand why certain institutions, like schools, would use such a thing.

But why would the famously anti-technology Tom Batiuk, fresh off a week of trashing the long-established standard of online payments, portray a technology product in a positive light? Especially one that hasn’t stroked his ego, as far as we know?

I think this image from Wednesday’s strip is the key:

I hid the text, because it’s not important. Look at the child’s face. Compared to the usual faces in the Funkyverse, that child is very upset. This isn’t the devil-may-care smirk or the resigned acceptance we usually see. That is the face of someone in mourning. Even Ed Crankshaft is going above and beyond in this shot. He looks genuinely irritated at this behavior. And unless I’m way off base (which I often am), these are both new drawings.

Why would Tom Batiuk be excited about a product that lets parents take cell phones away from children? Does it maybe… relate to his life experience, somehow? Oh, yes, it does. And we all know how.

This is Tom Batiuk telling the world he’s still upset that his mother tried to take away his comic books. It practically screams “See? See what it’s like when mean grownups take your precious thing away? Let’s see how you enjoy living without your precious phones!” He gets to make that point again, and slam something that didn’t exist before 1991!

And another thing: Ed is totally the wrong character build a Yondr arc around. What Funkyverse character (1) has a job where it’s reasonable to ask children to put their phones away, and (2) demands to be the center of attention at all times? Come on, you know who it is!

The star of Yondr Week should have been Les Moore.

Batiuk pulled Les out of mothballs to make him the star of The Burnings, even though Les almost single-handedly caused the entire problem. So there’s no real obstacle to using him here. Having Les – or at least, a teacher – be the ringleader of the Yondr Enforcement Team makes much more sense than having bus drivers do it.

Using Les in this role would (1) fit his long-running characterization, and (2) poke a little fun at the character, something the Funkyverse desperately needs.

The Funkyverse is full of unsympathetic comedy protagonists, but it doesn’t use them properly. Characters like Les Moore and Ed Crankshaft need to get pushback every once in a while. A week about Yondr is a perfect opportunity to take Les down a peg. Not in an overly mean way, but in a way that tells readers “okay, I get it, this character is a little overbearing sometimes.” And other characters get to acknowledge it too.

But Tom Batiuk is so enamored with his interpretation of Lisa and Les as The Greatest Tragedy In Human History and Her Long-Suffering Heroic Disciple that he’s blind to things like this. But here’s what I’d do:

Monday Panel 1: Principal Nate: “The school board is mandating we use Yondr, which requires students to put their phones in these special pouches during class. We need volunteers to help us with the roll out.” Panel 2: Les, in a group of bored-looking teachers sitting in meeting room chairs, enthusiastically raises his hand. Panel 3: “Okay, I think we all saw that coming. Anybody else?”

Imagine if Les got to deliver the “we have our ways of finding out” line.

It’s not hard to imagine a situation where Les is a little too overzealous about enforcing the rules, or enforces them in selfish ways. And the kids call him out on it. Here’s what I would do with the above panel:

Now that’s a quarter inch from reality.