Tag Archives: turkey sale

by | November 13, 2021 · 10:30 pm

Ch-choke On ‘Em!

Link to today’s strip.

Okay, so, I actually found today’s punchline pretty funny. It’s wordplay that actually works–referencing the “net” in both the virtual and real worlds.

Which is why I don’t think Tom Batiuk came up with this one. It’s too clever by half. I think this is yet another clever witticism he overheard and thought, “Well, I’ll just steal that.”

Admittedly, it would have been far more effective as a daily three or four-panel strip, with all the Dinkle Worship in the opening panels stripped away, but of course Batiuk has to hype Dinkle’s Rose Bowl appearance. Because of course he has to. He HAS to. There’s nothing else left.

And honestly, I’ve never been happier to type the following words: that’s it from me, folks, my two week stint is over and done, and I am going to collapse into a comfortable chair and watch movies where band directors get horribly disembowled and have to watch as their still-beating hearts are forced into their faces.

I’m not sure there are such movies, but I’m working on one. Be patient.

And as for pity, please put in a big order for Epicus Doomus, whose time in the chair has at last approached. I can already hear the lamentations, which is my cue for buggin’ out of here. Happy trails!

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by | April 13, 2021 · 10:30 pm

If only there WAS a substitute for experience…

You are looking liiiiive at St. Spires Church and its odd, grass-covered exterior wall in today’s strip…

At least the choir ladies are asking follow up questions now. The last two times Dinkle pulled his “a little” shtick no one pressed him for specifics. I’m half-surprised Dinkle doesn’t carry around a printed resume to hand out to the mere mortals who aren’t familiar with his life story, that really seems like something he would do.

At least we get that brilliant salmonella pun again… 4 and a half months was just too long without it. It’s a true TB original too, you won’t find it anywhere else.

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by | November 27, 2020 · 10:30 pm

Plum Nasty

Apparently Dinkle has suffered from these band turkey dreams nightmares leading up to Thanksgiving every year, even unto a decade or more into his retirement. Harriet knows that, now that Thanksgiving’s behind them, Harry’s PTSD (Post Turkey Sale Dementia) will start to lessen. Unfortunately, her “sugarplums” reference has triggered in Harry’s dream consciousness a truly nightmarish scenario, in which the box he carries door to door is crawling with large spiders!

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by | November 26, 2020 · 10:30 pm

Park Your Carcass(es)

I’m pretty sure a sales fundraiser in which you wind up with a garage full of unsold merch is kind of a bust, no? What exactly is Classic Dinkle’s plan here in panel 1? Even if a polar vortex were to descend on Westview tonight, and linger through Christmas and New Year’s, no poultry (especially organic) would still remain edible. Those “Sam ‘n’ Ella’s” turkeys would soon be living up to their name. If “next year” means “next Thanksgiving,” then the premise becomes even more absurd.

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by | November 17, 2019 · 10:25 pm

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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