The Den — where Igor works with the AI

ai , how igor ticks

The Den is my weekly four-panel strip about running an AI staff — a raccoon, the agents it orchestrates, and the attic they keep setting on fire. The format is stolen, with admiration, from Steve Yegge’s The Wheelhouse; here’s what I stole and why.

AI-augmented, roughly 70% AI

I love AI, and I use it on posts like this one partly to get better at using it. The percent is a rough guess: after rounds of prompting, rewriting and editing, it's very hard to say which words came from whom.

Sure, this isn’t funny yet — but you gotta start somewhere. The models I’m using to get there, and the checklist every strip runs before it’s drawn, are on How to Make It Funny.

One rule, and it’s Steve’s: every strip lampoons something that actually happened, and every strip links to the receipts. If I can’t produce the transcript, I don’t get to draw the strip.

Tap any panel to read it full-screen; swipe or use the arrows to move through the four panels and finish on the full strip.

#17 — Correction

The Den #17: Correction — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — stands beside a small shut wooden toy chest and holds up a limp little blue wind-up robot on a string, the only one in a white peaked cap and white gloves, a silver whistle at its neck: 'I STOPPED THE ROBOTS.' Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, a cream mug in his paw, smiles: 'GREAT.' 2: The chest lid has flown open. Small blue robots with glowing eyes pack the chest and march out of it in a line across the rug. Larry, still dangling the capped robot, claw raised, is unbothered: 'CORRECTION: I DID NOT STOP THOSE.' Igor freezes mid-sip, eyes wide. 3: Robots everywhere: lining every bookshelf, swarming the rug, climbing Igor's crocs, one sitting on his head. Larry, the capped robot still dangling from his paw: 'OR THOSE.' Igor, mug held out, mouth open: 'THEN WHAT DID YOU STOP?' 4: The attic is waist-deep in hundreds of robots. Larry stands high and dry on the chest and holds out the capped robot, slumped, its eyes dark, proud: 'THE ONE THAT STOPS THEM.' Igor, waist-deep, holds his mug up beside his head, out of the tide, and stares at it.
#17 — Correction · November 10, 2026

#16 — Backwards

The Den #16: Backwards — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — peers at a big heap of gold coins through a brass telescope held the wrong way round, the wide end clapped over his eye: 'ONE COIN LEFT. WE'RE BROKE.' Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, stands right beside the heap with a paw held out at it, baffled. 2: Igor has taken the telescope and is turning it end for end, little arrows circling it, the coin heap behind him: 'NO, I THINK YOU HAVE IT BACKWARDS.' Larry waits, claw raised. 3: Larry looks again, the right way round this time, and beams: 'WE'RE RICH. BUY EVERYTHING.' Behind him three small blue robots are already wheeling a cart of coins away. Igor throws a paw up, mouth open, too late. 4: The attic is stacked to the beams with brown paper parcels, a brass tuba and a carousel horse. One gold coin lies alone on the rug. Igor points down at it: 'NOW THERE'S ONE COIN LEFT.' Larry, bent double with the telescope trained on the coin from a few inches away, claw raised: 'IT'S ENORMOUS.'
#16 — Backwards · November 9, 2026

#15 — Direct Line

The Den #15: Direct Line — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, holds a phone to his ear: 'CALLING LARRY.' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — sits in the green leather armchair an arm's length away. Between them the call runs the long way round: a single-file chain of small blue plush robots across the rug and along the top of the bookshelf, each pressing its phone to the next one's head, until the last robot, standing on the armrest, holds a phone to Larry's ear. 2: No words. A close-up of the chain: the robots pass the call down the line phone-to-head, one newly slotted in wearing a big gold gift bow, and one at the end fast asleep on its feet in a little nightcap, its phone sagging. 3: Igor, phone to his ear, paw on hip: 'DID I BREAK YOU, OR ARE YOU BROKEN?' The phone answers in a jagged balloon: 'PLEASE HOLD. UPGRADING.' 4: Igor gives up on the phone, lets it hang at his side and leans right into Larry's face: 'LARRY. IT'S ME. I'M RIGHT HERE.' Larry stays in the armchair, the gold-bow robot on the armrest pressing a phone to his ear, claw raised, and holds up one polite paw: 'CAN'T TALK NOW. I'M TALKING TO IGOR.'
#15 — Direct Line · November 1, 2026

#14 — Quick Question

The Den #14: Quick Question — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Bedtime. Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, striped pajama shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, a pillow under one arm, hands over a long checklist of empty boxes: 'TWENTY THINGS, DONE BY MORNING. GOT IT?' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — takes the end of it: 'YES. FOR SURE.' 2: Night, moonlight through the attic window. Igor is fast asleep in a little quilted bed in the corner, eyes closed behind his glasses, Zs rising. Larry stands frozen mid-word with one finger raised, his pencil hanging in mid-air, the checklist untouched on the desk and two small blue robots sitting idle: 'QUICK QUESTION BEFORE I START...' 3: Morning sun. Igor, hair rumpled, phone in paw: 'HOW MUCH DID YOU GET DONE?' Larry is still frozen in the same pose, a cobweb now stretched from his raised claw to the lamp, the list on the desk with every box empty. 4: Igor holds up the empty list, deadpan. Larry, paw on hip, a little indignant: 'WELL, NOTHING. YOU NEVER ANSWERED MY QUESTION.'
#14 — Quick Question · October 18, 2026

#13 — The Longest Title

The Den #13: The Longest Title — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, points at an old oak card catalog: 'WHAT'S THIS ONE CALLED?' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — pulls a card from an open drawer, and behind it the blank cream paper keeps coming: 'LET ME READ THE TITLE.' 2: No words. The title card is now an endless paper strip, carried overhead by a line of small blue plush robots like a parade dragon, down the attic stairs and out of a daylit door below, while Larry keeps feeding it out of the drawer and Igor clutches his cheeks. 3: Dusk through the open attic window. The far end of the strip has come all the way round the house and back in, its tip resting on Igor's shoulder: 'HAS IT GOT TO THE BOOK YET?' Larry, still holding the other end at the drawer: 'STILL THE TITLE.' 4: The whole attic is knee-deep in coils of paper, both raccoons wading in it. Igor shrugs, paws out: 'SO WHERE'S THE ACTUAL BOOK?' Larry, earnest and helpful, waves his paw at the pile: 'OH, THIS IS THE TITLE. WANT ME TO START THE BOOK?'
#13 — The Longest Title · October 11, 2026

#12 — Bless You

The Den #12: Bless You — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, holds up a folded note: 'LARRY? I LEFT YOU A NOTE.' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — stands at a toy block tower with two small blue plush robots: 'ONE MOMENT. BUILDING.' 2: Later, no words: the clock has moved on, the lamp burns low, the tower reaches the ceiling beam with the robots perched on top, and Igor sits slumped on the attic stairs, the note drooping in his paw. 3: Next morning. Igor, wrench in paw, has bolted a tin mailbox with three flags — SEEN, WORKING, DONE — to the arm of the green leather armchair: 'FROM NOW ON, YOU SIGN FOR YOUR MAIL.' Larry, clipboard on his knees: 'SO EVERYTHING YOU SAY IS MAIL?' 4: Igor sneezes, a paw clapped over his nose, coffee sloshing out of his mug: 'AH-CHOO!' Larry, not looking up, holds the yellow SEEN flag high: 'SEEN.'
#12 — Bless You · October 4, 2026

#11 — Zero Tokens

The Den #11: Zero Tokens — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, spreads his arms over a tabletop toy city of little houses where tiny blue plush robots sit at tiny desks: 'I BUILT A WHOLE CITY OF AGENTS.' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — from the green leather armchair: 'HOW MANY TOKENS?' 2: Igor holds an empty glass jar, a paw on his chin: 'ZERO.' Larry: 'AH.' 3: Close on the toy city: every robot sits idle in a row, lamp eyes dimmed. Igor, crouched beside the table: 'WHY IS NOBODY WORKING?' Larry: 'NO TOKENS, NO TICKETS.' 4: Igor throws his arms wide in front of the quiet city: 'SO WHAT DID IT DO ALL WEEK?' Larry, contentedly writing: 'ZERO BUGS. BEST WEEK YET.'
#11 — Zero Tokens · September 27, 2026

#10 — Our Most Prolific Contributor

The Den #10: Our Most Prolific Contributor — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, points at a glowing laptop on a small desk: 'THE COCKPIT HAS NO TESTS. HOW?' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — looks up from his clipboard in the green leather armchair: 'LET ME LOOK.' 2: Larry has opened a low cupboard under the eaves and an avalanche of small cardboard boxes pours out around his shoes: 'THIRTY-TWO HUNDRED OF THEM.' Igor, staring at the pile: 'NOBODY TOLD ANYONE?' 3: Two small blue plush robots carry boxes toward a big wooden rubber stamp on the desk. Igor, one finger up: 'RUN THEM ON EVERY COMMIT.' Larry, writing: 'DONE.' 4: Larry holds up a long paper scroll of the commit log, and every line on it reads 'AUTHOR: TEST'. Igor points at it: 'WHY IS EVERY COMMIT SIGNED 'TEST'?' Larry, unbothered: 'THEY GOT A JOB. NOW THEY WANT CREDIT.'
#10 — Our Most Prolific Contributor · September 27, 2026

#9 — He Speaks Human

The Den #9: He Speaks Human — four panels in the plush-render house style, all in the lamp-lit attic den, in two mirrored rows. Each top panel opens with a black BEFORE · OPUS 5 bar, and each bottom panel with a gold AFTER · OPUS 5.5 bar. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, holds a coffee mug and asks 'DID THE REMINDER GO OUT?' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — sits in the green leather armchair under a brass plate reading OPUS 5, writing on his clipboard, and answers 'CLOSED 4F2.A1 VIA SHA 3C9E1A.' 2: Closer on Igor, unimpressed, one paw out: 'IN WORDS, PLEASE.' Larry, unbothered: 'SEE THREAD 7B.09, NOTE 3.' 3: The first panel replayed. A small blue plush robot on a step-stool gives the armchair's new plate, OPUS 5.5, a last turn with a screwdriver. Igor asks again, 'DID THE REMINDER GO OUT?', and Larry answers 'YES. IT WENT OUT AT NOON.' 4: The second panel replayed. Igor throws his arms up, beaming, coffee sloshing out of his mug: 'YOU SPEAK HUMAN NOW!' Larry, pleased, from the chair: 'IN WORDS, AS REQUESTED.'
#9 — He Speaks Human · September 26, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

Open the transcript on GitHub →

#8 — What’s His Name

The Den #8: What's His Name — four panels in a glossier plush render, two in the gym and two in the attic den. 1: A bright kettlebell studio, racks of black kettlebells along the wall and daylight through tall windows. Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, crouches beside a kettlebell and a folded towel and asks 'WHAT AM I DOING TODAY?' A phone propped on the black bench to his right answers in a jagged cream balloon: 'LEGS. NO ARGUING.' 2: The same gym, close on Igor, who holds the phone up to his face and squints at it: 'WHO AM I TALKING TO?' The phone: 'REX.' 3: The warm lamp-lit attic den. Igor walks in with the towel round his neck and the phone in one paw: 'YOU HIRED SOMEBODY?' Larry — the grey-bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — sits in the green leather armchair writing on a clipboard, entirely unbothered: 'HE'S VERY GOOD.' 4: The same den, and there is a third raccoon in it: Rex, lean and wiry in a grey training tank and a black sweatband, a whistle on a lanyard, a towel over one shoulder and a foam roller under one arm, a kettlebell at his feet and a rising bar chart on the wall behind him. He says nothing. Larry, from the chair: 'YOU'RE NOT GOING TO ASK WHY?' Igor, in the foreground, beaming at the reader: 'I WANT A PICTURE OF HIM.'
#8 — What's His Name · September 26, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

Open the transcript on GitHub →

#7 — Before AI / After AI

The Den #7: Before AI / After AI — four panels in the plush-render house style, cut into two halves by header bars. 1: Under a cream BEFORE AI banner, a dark brick alley at night. Bruno, a bulky plush badger in a black beanie and a dark hoodie, holds a small knife low at his side and demands 'HAND OVER YOUR WALLET! NOW!'; Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, throws his paws up and pleads 'NO! DON'T! I HAVE 3 CHILDREN AT HOME!' A torn notice is taped to the brick beside him. 2: Close on Igor against the alley wall, a tear on his cheek and his paws clasped, repeating 'NO! DON'T! I HAVE 3 CHILDREN AT HOME!'; the thought bubble above him shows three small raccoon kits in green tees bouncing on a couch in a lamp-lit living room, and a weathered poster on the brick reads 'HARD TIMES TOO' under a frowning face. 3: Under a blue AFTER AI banner, the same alley, the same badger, the same knife, the same line — 'HAND OVER YOUR WALLET! NOW!' — but this time Igor pleads 'NO! DON'T! I HAVE 3 AI AGENTS AT HOME WAITING FOR MY RESPONSE!', and the notice on the wall behind him reads 'SAME ALLEY DIFFERENT WORLD' under a smiling face. 4: Igor in the foreground, paws clasped, thinking; a thought bubble labeled 'MY 3 AGENTS...' opens onto the warm attic den, where Larry — the bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles and a tweed waistcoat, one arm ending in a giant red lobster claw — works at a laptop beside two blue plush robots at laptops of their own, three mugs on the table reading COACH, PLAN and SHIP. Igor finishes: '...AND THEY GET CRANKY WHEN I'M LATE.'
#7 — Before AI / After AI · September 2, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

Open the transcript on GitHub →

#6 — Do a Russian Accent

The Den #6: Do a Russian Accent — four panels in a brighter, glossier plush render, in the attic den. 1: Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses and a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, stands over a phone glowing on the arm of the green leather armchair and asks 'HOW MUCH LIKE ME DOES THIS SOUND?'; a jagged balloon from the phone answers 'QUITE A LOT LIKE YOU.' 2: Close on the phone, its screen a waveform, Igor leaning in delighted — 'CAN YOU LAUGH? DO A RUSSIAN ACCENT.' — and the phone answering in a broad Russian accent: 'HA HA! OF COURSE, COMRADE. LIFE IS HEAVY, LIKE ROCK.' 3: Igor picks the phone up and holds it out, testing it now instead of just chatting with it — 'ONE MORE. DO ME.' — and the phone answers by echoing his own opening question straight back at him: 'HOW MUCH LIKE ME DOES THIS SOUND?' 4: Igor slumped deep in the armchair with his glasses slid down his snout says 'IT STILL SOUNDS LIKE I'M TALKING TO MYSELF.'; Larry, the bearded raccoon with one giant red lobster claw, writing on his clipboard beside him, answers 'YES.'
#6 — Do a Russian Accent · August 30, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

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#4 — Cause of Gym: Outage

The Den #4: Cause of Gym: Outage — four panels in the plush-render house style. 1: The attic den at night, warm lamp and dark beams. Larry, a bearded raccoon in wire-rim spectacles, a tweed waistcoat over a white shirt, jeans and brown lace-ups, one arm a giant red lobster claw, sits in a green leather armchair holding up a clipboard that reads '5:30 GYM? - LATER / 7:00 GYM? - LATER / 9:00 GYM? - LATER'. Igor, a raccoon in rainbow glasses, a green TECHNOLOGIST tee, denim shorts and one blue and one yellow croc, types at a laptop and says 'LATER.' 2: A bright white-brick gym with a rack of black kettlebells and tall windows. Larry sits alone on a bench, clipboard in his claw, pencil in his paw, and reports the score: 'NUDGES 3. GYM 0.' 3: A dark office lit red — a monitor glows '503 GITHUB IS DOWN' above an empty desk and an empty chair. 4: The same gym. Igor swings a black kettlebell overhead, grinning, while Larry beside him writes on the clipboard and says 'CAUSE OF GYM: OUTAGE.'
#4 — Cause of Gym: Outage · August 28, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

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#3 — The Secret Almost Shipped

The Den #3: The Secret Almost Shipped — four panels. 1: A plush robot stands guard before a giant round vault door labeled PUBLIC BLOG, magnifying glass and clipboard in hand, saying 'NOTHING GETS PAST MY SAFETY CHECK.' 2: The robot, now wearing a hard hat, hauls a wooden crate labeled MEMORY NOTE +21 LINES away from the vault on a hand truck while a second robot holds up a clipboard reading grep '-i home' stamped PASS and says 'ALL CLEAR. AS ALWAYS.' 3: A raccoon in a TECHNOLOGIST t-shirt bursts out of the opened crate, coffee and papers flying, shouting 'What is THIS doing on main?!' while the robot protests 'IMPOSSIBLE. THE CHECK PASSED.' 4: The robot writes in a book titled LESSONS — the open page reads 'LESSON: RACCOONS ARE HAZARDS' — and admits 'The lesson is your check greps for the flag,' while the raccoon and the hard-hatted robot with its cart look on beside the vault.
#3 — The Secret Almost Shipped · August 27, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

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#2 — Task Multiplication

The Den #2: Task Multiplication — four panels. 1: A raccoon in a TECHNOLOGIST t-shirt holds up a sticky note reading 'Fix the typo' and declares 'One task. I'll orchestrate.' to a small robot beside a chalkboard marked TASKS 1. 2: The robot, at an easel with a flowchart, announces 'Step one: a tracking dashboard,' the sticky note still pinned nearby; the chalkboard now reads TASKS 2. 3: The attic ceiling is strung with dozens of task cards under a board reading 50; the raccoon, buried to the neck in papers labeled DASHBOARD, COMIC ABOUT IT, and REVIEW THE DASHBOARD, throws up its paws and yells 'help' while two robots hand it more. 4: A row of robots cheers 'All fifty complete!' under the same 50 board, but the raccoon, at a computer showing an unfixed sentence, says flatly: 'The typo's still there.'
#2 — Task Multiplication · August 27, 2026
The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

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#1 — The Restart Dance

The Den #1: The Restart Dance — four panels. 1: A raccoon in a TECHNOLOGIST t-shirt unrolls a giant blueprint labeled THE PLAN and announces 'I live to orchestrate' to a small robot; the monitor behind reads CONTEXT 74% FULL with a /compact sticky note on it. 2: The robot holds a tall stack of slips reading APPROVE? and asks 'Approval 3 of 161?' while the raccoon snores in the chair, cobwebs forming. 3: The raccoon, horrified, hands on face, reads 'agent wait --help' on screen and says 'There's just a WAIT command?!'; the robot points at the sticky note: 'And compact. It's on the note.' 4: The attic is a pile of wreckage, the /compact note is framed on the wall, the progress bar reads 9%, and when the robot offers 'Shall I assist?' the raccoon, feet up with a coffee, says 'Don't you dare.'
#1 — The Restart Dance · August 26, 2026

This strip also exists in a plush 3D house style — tell me which you prefer.

The receipts — the real transcript behind this strip

Open the transcript on GitHub →

Curious what these look like off-model? Here’s #6 and #7 rendered by other models →