In all seriousness, today’s Crankshaft floored me. Again, we’re not going to make this a Crankshaft blog, but this is a big enough development to talk about.
Here was my initial reaction:
I absolutely didn’t expect this. What does it say about the Funkyverse that starting a story with a plot point, and then actually resolving that plot point, is a shocking outcome?
And honestly, it’s kind of sweet. I have to give Pete credit for an elegant and well-executed proposal. Sure beats Eugene’s “check yes or no” snail mail proposal to Lucy, John Howard’s awkwardness, and that “in the main” word salad Les spewed at Cayla. Mindy’s “I must be crazy” reaction was also sweet. She is crazy, and not for the reasons she thinks, but she finally got what she wanted. For one day, I’m rooting for this couple. They’ll probably destroy that tomorrow morning, though.
Because I think these are the first shots of the Funky Winkervasion. The annexation of Crankshaft by Funky Winkerbean has been building for awhile, but this arc is the declaration of war. Mason Jarre showing up to buy the Valentine theater, as forced as it was, at least had some connections to long-running events in Centerville. Montoni’s wasn’t even relevant in its own strip; its closure was trivial. But here it is, being brought back to life, presumably so it can become the new social hub of Crankshaft – which is set in a town some distance away. That’s not how small-town social hubs work.
Will tomorrow’s strip be more sweetness and light, or is it straight back to Pete’s nonsense plan to revive a dead restaurant with this dollar-store corporate mascot? Or worse, discussions of how they’re going to merge their comic books?
I want to hear what you all think about this, so I hope you’ll weigh in in the comments.
Let’s all take a deep breath, and go over 
Then we get to panel two, and there’s the Montoni’s delivery fleet, parked right out in front. With “brand-new snow tires“! Of course this doesn’t make sense. And after all the other BS that Batty’s shoveled our way, particularly in the past month of strips, this incongruity comes as no surprise. You win, Mr. Batiuk. You’ve spent fifty years establishing these characters and their universe, and have certainly earned the right to throw logic and continuty down the toilet. Our nitpicking nation turns its beady eyes to you. Woo woo woo.
Son of Stuck Funky 
