Crankshaft by Tom Batiuk and Dan Davis for October 31, 2024

If I were to make a Peanuts tribute strip, I would have published it today.

Anyway – Where’s Crankshaft?

NEXT: “PBM vs WHATEVER TOM SEES AROUND HIS DESK! The Insidious STAPLER MAN! The Furious FAX MACHINE Not Used Since 2002 Man! The Malicious MEDS Tom Forgets to Take Man! So Many, SO MANY EMPTY BEER CANS, Tom Swears he has no idea how they got here, no, Man, They’re Not Mine! The BROKEN SOBBING AS ANOTHER STRIP IS CANCELLED Reverse Flash!” Tom, this is just “End times Apt3G” now. Quit while you’re behind, but not legendarily behind.

Broken but defiant, Captain America managed to say with his last breath—“Avengers—ASSEMB—” “WHOA, dude!” said Thanos. “When I said I’d bring balance to the Universe, I meant a BALANCED BREAKFAST!” Everyone stops fighting, and has 1 glass of milk, 1 glass of OJ, 1 slice of toast, and a bowl of Cookie-Ohs. All went well until the Hulk said “HULK WANT BLUEBERRY ON CEREAL!” and it all went to Heck.

Sure wish I could read the cartoon but I’ve got a stiff neck.

Yeah, this week’s strips have had the consistency of soggy paper. You’re supposed to be writing stories, not coming up with comic book covers! What’s the furshlugginer story!?

Can this get any worse? Of course! The PBM is yet to face—Count Drekula! “He bites, he sucks, he blows! He’s the perfect Batiuk character!” What about—The Woolman! “The most sheepish villain ever! Don’t let him pull his wool over your eyes, or you’ll spend $3.99 on the premiere ish of his adventures!” And what of the very worst character—The Mommy! “Quit lying on the floor, you geriatric jerk! Clean up your bedroom or I won’t make you any more hot cocoa!”

can we quit with the neck-breaking sideways strips already? enough is enough

^ ^ Chuckle ^ ^

Me doctor advise me neck surgery. OWWWW.

Please…!

checking out the annual swimsuit edition

Thank goodness Halloween wasn’t wasted on something stupid.

Pulp Fiction

Following this strip horizontally has given me such a pain in my neck.

…..all else fails……read!!!!

Sheriff Jack Smith cruised slowly down Main Street. As he passed Montoni’s Pizza a figure darting from the restaurant’s glow into the dark alley nearby.

Smith stopped his cruiser, stepping out and approaching the alley with steady, unflinching steps. At the end of the alley, the shadowed figure waited, hidden beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp. As the Sheriff moved closer, the evil politician stepped forward, his face twisted in a smirk, a gleam of hatred in his eyes, and a pistol leveled at Smith’s chest.

“Well, well, Sheriff,” the politician sneered, voice low and venomous, “looks like your little chase ends here. This town is mine, and you’re nothing but a footnote in my story.”

Sheriff Smith stood his ground, unshaken. He lifted his chin, his badge glinting under the faint light. “You think you can take me down? There will always be another one of us, wearing this badge, standing up to people like you. You can shoot me, but you can’t kill the law. It’s bigger than you, bigger than any of us.”

The politician let out a dark chuckle, his laugh crackling like dead leaves in the wind. “Say your prayers, Smith. On this Hallow’s Eve, you’re getting the trick, but no treat.”

He cocked the hammer on his revolver, his finger hovering over the trigger, a look of triumph on his face. But just as he steadied his aim, a strange rustling sounded from behind him. Before he could turn, the infamous Pizza Box Monster—a towering, shifting pile of Montoni’s pizza boxes—rose up and lunged.

The boxes tumbled down on him, burying him under their weight, knocking him to the ground. The evil politician’s scream was muffled as the cardboard engulfed him, pressing him down, trapping him beneath layers of greasy, battered boxes. Sheriff Smith watched as the Pizza Box Monster completed its work, a silent force of poetic justice, smothering the last cries of a man who thought he was untouchable.

Tonight, justice had come from the most unexpected of places.

Please stop.

“Let’s tell ghost stories!”

“No, even better, let’s come up with a premise for a scary story, but then maybe not even be scary, just integrate our PBM pal here with comic book characters. Then instead of telling a story let’s just draw a comic book cover on a napkin. Oh, and be sure when you draw your proposed cover it includes the publisher’s logo and a price.”

“Genius!”

friday in a crossover pizza box monster vs summer mummy and jimmy winner gets a ham helmet

Pizza Box Monster vs. Doc Savage. Okay,Pat Savage. Let’s make it an even contest

Gotta reluctantly admit the strip, despite the so-so art and sideways presentation, gave me a modest chuckle. The realization that a monster made of cardboard boxes wouldn’t have any particular beef with a monster made of paper pulp was unexpected and kinda funny. At least compared to what we’ve been subjected to the last several weeks.

This is Halloween. You’d think (hope) that this would be the culmination of this really bad idea. It seems Batiuk is a bit obsessed with comic books (reminiscence) and dumb irrelevant monsters (dementia). Sad. I miss Crankshaft.

As Election Day neared, whispers of deceit and sabotage began to spread through the town like a fever. The evil politician and his devoted followers, those willing to lie and cheat to secure his power, had devised a plan—simple, ruthless, and bound to ignite chaos.

For months, they’d fed the townspeople stories of a rigged election, claiming that if the evil politician lost, it could only mean the system was corrupted. His most loyal follower, a former soldier with a twisted sense of patriotism, promised, “We’ll be ready on the day it matters.” His voice rang through the back rooms and quiet meetings, a rallying cry that stirred something dark within those who already clung to fear and resentment.

They had a blueprint: stir the townsfolk into fury, challenge any unfavorable result in the courts, and, if necessary, unleash a protest that could shatter the peace on the day of certification. The evil politician’s allies, in sermons and speeches, painted this election as a battle between good and evil, with those who opposed him cast as enemies of faith, freedom, and tradition. To them, compromise was betrayal, and losing was not an option.

Sheriff Jack Smith, sensing the gathering storm, watched as the tension in the town grew sharper, more volatile. The rumors twisted into monstrous proportions, tales of fraud and theft spread by the politician’s devoted disciples. The more they repeated these lies, the more the anger in the streets simmered, ready to boil over. Some followers spoke openly of “defending the town” by any means necessary.

On the eve of the election, Sheriff Smith walked the streets, aware that beneath the surface of his town lay a terrible rage—one fanned by lies and poised to ignite. He would be ready to stand between his town and the darkness spreading from the politician’s poisoned mind. The battle would be fierce, but Sheriff Smith, with his badge shining like a shield, would fight for the soul of the town.

Hey, Batiuk! Just so you know, I refuse to read sideways comics on a computer.