Tag Archives: turkey sale

Tealing no Lies.

Link to today’s strip

Oh goodie! Dinkle has snuck back into the high school band room to make sure his replacement is doing her job correctly. Didn’t want another repeat of the Band Mattresses door to door fiasco. Nosiree! It’s a frozen avian holocaust year after year from now on, just as our founding fathers intended.

You think Batiuk remembers that he taught Dinkle all about the joys of Indigogo back when he was taking the Bedside Manorisms to Memphis? Of course this is BANDiegogo, some kind of MLM nonsense which probably takes a nice slice out of the gross income from the fundraiser.

Also, has the band room always been teal? Such a weird color for the walls of a school. Blues and greens are typically calming colors, low energy, and the last thing Becky needs from her slack-jawed horn jockeys is less energy.

What is written on the dry erase board in the background? Some kind of manifesto? Probably it was supposed to be the lines from music staff, less the clefs and braces. But the way it’s drawn makes it look like someone’s been transcribing the Declaration of Independence long-hand.

A weird mix of detail and sloppiness in the art today, all over. We have Becky’s omnipresent folded and pinned sleeve, and the tiny music note on the coffee cup of the piano. Then we have a computer’s keyboard in panel three just drenched in teal, and the terrifying scribble of Becky in panel one looking like a meerkat in a wig.

Who is down for a week of Dinkle on autopilot?


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Thank Les

DavidO here snarking from a somewhat dusty room in here…*wipes an eye*

In today’s strip, we’re celebrating a major holiday with nary a Les in sight. Neither is there a mention of book tours, ghostly wives, pizza or marching bands. We even get to see Skyler in a somewhat closer view today and the kid doesn’t look bad.

Let’s be thankful for everything we have today, including a FW strip that doesn’t make every bone in my snark body ache.


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Dolt with a Poult

Westview is truly a town without pity, as Owen finds no takers for the thawed and bleeding bird he’s schlepping from door to door. As a parent, I’ve been around my share of fundraisers. People tend to be inclined either to give, as long as it’s for a good cause; or not, in which case they simply refuse to answer the door. The folks in Westview, though, insist on asking pointed questions of the seller, before finally declining to buy. And forget about how that turkey was raised, ma’am: its thawed carcass has been conveyed through the streets of town for the last three days tucked ‘neath the arm of a hippie. You do not want that turkey.


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Tuesday Turkey

November 19, 2012 at 7:40 pm
Perhaps if Becky is looking for potential improvements in her program and its acceptance in the community, she could advise her students who are soliciting door-to-door to clean themselves up a little bit when they’re interrupting people to ask for money…Owen looks so shabby in this strip that I’d almost think he’s homeless and he found the turkey after it fell off the truck and is now trying to sell it for glue-huffing money.

If only those band turkeys could sell themselves, because between Owen’s shabby appearance, complete lack of manners and salesmanship, not to mention his ignorance of basic food safety guidelines, he’s sure as hell not going to sell any. Certainly not to this guy, who buys only band candy, not turkeys, and only from quirky redheads.


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Turkey Jerky

Owenvember continues today: the chullo’d one has been featured in all but four strips so far this month. And yes, folks, Owen is clearly stupid, and/or stoned, but give him a little credit: the woman’s question is pointless (and awkwardly constructed). Why, he’s selling band turkeys to raise money for…the…band.


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Turkey Talk

ahwatukee joe
November 24, 2010 at 10:12 am
How did she ring the doorbell?

(Ahwatukee joe’s comment from last year’s turkey sale arc was so deliciously snarky I just had to bring it back.) At least this year Becky is smiling at potential customers rather than threatening them.

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Praying Hand


Well if this ain’t right outta Norman Rockwell. The Blackburn-Howards gather around the table to enjoy a band turkey of their very own. So worn out from delivering tainted poultry is Becky that she is about to fall asleep at the table. By the way, isn’t it customary for the man of the house to lead the family in grace, “Dad”?

Wishing everyone a safe, happy, blessed Thanksgiving! —TFH

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