Well, he’s going to have to call off the engagement for sure. The question that’s left is what’s to become of Ann? In a perfect world he’ll have her committed, because she’s clearly obsessive and delusional and should be locked up to protect her as well as the rest of society.
If she deserves anything at all out of this, I’d limit it to a spinoff comic of her own.
It’s a kayak, because it looks the same coming or going.
A tortilla is a creature with a soft furry shell. Cross between a tortoise and a chinchilla.
Tune in for the next exciting installment of “F. W. Planarian, Ace Platyhelminth!”
Back in the ‘70s, the age of K-Tel, I wanted to start a band and call it “Many, Many More”. Because that’s the line the used in every TV ad for those compilation LPs: “All of today’s biggest hits! From Helen Reddy! KC and the Sunshine Band! Jim Croce! And Many, Many More!”
Figured they’d have three options: stop using that line, include at least one of our songs on every record they advertised, or get sued for lying to consumers. (And I was kind of hoping they’d go for the second one.)
Why wouldn’t you?
Tiff really should have practiced her elevator speech before she went to her dad with it.
Not unless Satan ever said “squirrel!”
I once tried to feed one a Cheeto at a highway rest stop. Held it between thumb and forefinger, extending to my right, hoping he’d come up and take it from me. My stepfather said he’d never go for it that way; I’d have to put it on the ground before he’d get that brave.
So what he actually did was circle around to the left side of my hand, put his little front feet up on the edge of my hand and stretch his little neck across my palm to take the butt-end of the Cheeto from that side. I’m sure if he hadn’t been able to get a good grip on it that way he would have climbed right up into my palm for it.
Or when you’d been out in the rain….
“I’m not a fig plucker, nor a fig plucker’s son, but I’ll pluck figs till the fig plucker comes.”