Where'd all the swimmers go? I'm starting to wonder if the Charterstone pool is some sort of mythical subterranean beast that opens its mouth camouflaged as a swimming pool waiting for its prey to take a dip. The size of the pool adjusts to indicate how hungry it is.
Joe Giella never drew swimmers in the pool because he was aware of this trap, until Olive fell in and was almost eaten. June Brigman still has a lot to learn about Santa Royale, obviously.
32 comments:
I'm not gonna speculate as to what but those muffins clearly contain some sort of narcotics.
But nobody, including pack animals, needs your muffins, Mary.
Thanks for the Mary flashback, Wanders. If I'm recalling correctly, Mary's wet hair magically reverted to Mary Style as it dried in minutes.
They evidently don't care if they get crumbs all over the place. They'll just order Allora to clean up the mess.
-- Scottie McW.
Today's Boldface Haiku is titled
"Charterstone's Newest Program, Swim N' Seminar: The Sociology Of Relationships".
Prove not sociable!
Nonsense!
Friends!
Social creatures...pack animals!
TimP, that was my thought, too! Mary and Toby seem way too blissful. Everyone's leaving the party, but they just keep munching Mary's muffins.
That said, it's wonderful to see the pool and move on to a new story!
This is the best Mary Worth in a long time. Toby finally showing a little personality, and Mary swearing a holy oath to enforce conformity on poor Mr. Wynter. It's like Randolph & Mortimer at the beginning of Trading Places. They can make a $1 bet before Mary moves in to destroy his life!
Having spent several days at this most welcome pool party, I’ve been observing the Pale Purple People in the background. There may be a clause in the Charterstone rental agreement that stipulates that residents must be uniformly unattractive in order to make Mary, Toby, Iris, and Dawn look good. Wilbur and Ian prove the rule.
I'm sorry Mary but some people are not particularly sociable. And not all dogs are particularly sociable. Actually some breeds are known for being aloof and aggressive with other dogs unless deliberately socialized. And muffins don't belong at a pool party. Grrr!
What is it with these muffins?
Toby looks stoned.
Way to go, Nance! You so accurately grasped the fine points of today's boldface haiku material... Sociology indeed! Now if only JB would get that nobody eats muffins while reclining on a chaise longue.. Muffins are just not a relaxation food. Miscast again!
If it weren't for the fact that Karen Moy is generally oblivious to any events more recent than 1999, I would swear that Mr Wynter's dog is a perfectly timed cameo of viral Instagram star Mister Bubz:
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bm9AALiFJM6/?taken-by=misterbubz
I entirely sympathize with their crotchety and snarling attitudes. Unfortunately it will take mere months of repetitive dialogue for Mary to reduce them to adoring snivelling minions who will dutifully beg her for muffin crumbs.
If the pool monster doesn't get them, the bush creature (purple people eater?) climbing over the wall will.
hey Mary,
Bella is a chihuahua. This breed is well-known for its behavior: small-dog complex, very loyal to and protective of its owner, not terribly friendly to strangers. If you want to talk to a sociable dog, go feed your muffins to a golden retriever. And leave Mr. Wynter alone. Toby, lay off the marijuana.
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Our story so far:
(Continued from August 30)
Six weeks ago:
A smartly dressed (khaki puttees, uniform shirt with epaulettes and a metal badge) messenger boy sped up to Charterstone on his Schwinn bicycle.
“Western Union telegram for Mrs. Mary Worm!” he unctuously announced. “I’m Mrs. Worm, er, Worth. Thank you, here’s a dime to buy a snack.”
Boy, under his breath ‘(§@#$&*) Thanksalot, Mrs. Worm!’ “That’s Worth, you little...Give me back that dime!”
But it was too late. The boy pedaled furiously away, whistling “Ride of the Valkyries”, pretending not to notice Mary shaking her fist at him.
Mary glares at him a final time, then opens the thin yellow envelope.
WYNTER IS COMINGstop
Six weeks later:
BUZZ BUZZ!
Mary answers the door.
With curled lip, ‘Yes?’
‘Do I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Mary Worth?”
Mary: Yes, it is an honor, and yes, I am Mrs. Worth. And who might you be?
Mr. Wynter: I am Winston Wynter. I have agreed to lease Ms. Nola Wolvenson’s apartments for the next few months. Here is a letter of introduction.
Mary opens and quickly reads the letter: Hi, Mary, sorry about this, but I needed the money! Give old man Wynter and his dogs a wide berth, and you should be okay. Love, Nola.
Well, Mr. Wynter, -do they call you Winnie -
NO, THEY DO NOT
-this all seems to be in order. Ms. Wolvenson mentions you have dogs...?
Well, Mrs. Worth, -do they call you Minnie-
NO THEY DO NOT, THAT WAS MY MOTHER-IN-LAW, and she was a terrible person.
Now, about the dogs, we have a very strict one dog policy here at Charterstone.
Mrs. Worth, let me tell you a story ((TM) Mary Worth).
(Spit it out, Winnie.)
I was a student at Yale Drama School. I was there with many of the greats- Meryl Streep, Henry Winkler, Sigourney Weaver, Ken Kensington, Biff Bifferson, Julie Harris, Richard Dreyfuss, Paul Newman...but my talent was greater than any of theirs (heaven only knows I was better than The Fonz!).
They were jealous of my blazing brilliance on stage, and I could never get a good part. I was third soldier from the left in Richard III, and that lunatic Dreyfuss got the part of Richard! I could have acted the hump off that part. I never stood a chance. I sadly left Yale and returned home to enter the family business, Wynter Worldwide Widgets, Ltd.
My father, Wayne Wynter, knowing that I was ‘the artistic type’, assigned me to the advertising department, and tasked me with writing a jingle touting the Company. It came to me in a dream:
‘My name is Wayne Wynter,
I yam an inventor;
I developed the widget,
With the help of a... very short guy.’
My father’s secretary, the formidable Miss Festus-Eustace-Arbuthnot, said that my original rhyme was insensitive and not politically correct. Once again, my brilliance was unappreciated by lesser mortals. I decided to hit the road...with my four dogs, Sprinkles, Tinkles, Puker, and Pooper, products of a Yorkie mother and a Rottweiler father.
I needed to act, so I went on the road as a historical re-enactor. I quickly acquired a role as second cannon loader from the right at The Battle of Bunker Hill. Unfortunately, Tinkles did his business against the side of Old Ironsides, and I left Boston humiliated, and without Tinkles, who joined a roving band of Boston dogs known as Little Pissahs.
To be continued...
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My next role was as one of Ethan Allen’s Green Mountain Boys (Boy in the first row, middle). Ethan Allen would work at his furniture-building shop at night and command the battles during the day. Unfortunately, Pooper chose to express himself on one of Ethan’s very plush fainting couches, and I was forced to leave my important role. I never saw Pooper again; he was taken away by the Vermont Anti-Defecation Society.
Craving warmer weather, and new challenges, I removed myself to Key West in Florida, where I learned of an exciting opportunity- the Ernest Hemingway look-alike competition!
An actor prepares, as dear old Stanislavski said, and prepare I did. I grew the bushy white beard, I gained a modest amount of weight, I drank Mojitos at Sloppy Joe’s, Papa’s favorite watering hole. I and the dogs spent every day at the Hemingway House, mingling with the 60 three-toed cats who have lived there since Hemingway’s days.
At last, the day of the competition arrived. The contestants, scores of us, gathered at Sloppy Joes. It was like being in a hall of mirrors. Mr. Sprinkles was right by my side, lapping up anything that was spilled. Suddenly a 911 call came in from the Hemingway House. All 150 of the contestants ran as one, ready to man a bucket brigade, rescue cats, whatever was necessary.
Alas! We were too late. A creature of some sort had slain and partially consumed many of the cats. Alas! I spotted Puker throwing up enormous fur balls in a corner. Naturally, I pretended not to know him. The competition was canceled, grief counselors were brought in, and I hastily retreated to my hotel room, shaved, and left town with a heavy heart, but without Puker.
Next, Mr. Sprinkles and I found ourselves in New Orleans. I began preparing for my entry into the annual “STELLA!!!!” contest. Every night I stood on the balcony of my hotel room, shouting STELLA into the empty streets of the French Quarter. Every night, other guests shouted SHUT UP into the streets. I don’t know what they were rehearsing. One evening, there was a knock on my door. It was Nola Wolvenson. She was very interested in my life, and she was excited to tell me about the upcoming FDR look alike contest here in Santa Royale. Mr. Sprinkles and I drove straight through, so here we are.
Mary, for once, had nothing to say, but she did throw up a little in her mouth.
Meg, as always, you’ve outdone yourself. You’ve made Mr. Wynter more long winded than Mary if that’s possible.
I keep hearing Mr. Magoo’s voice in my head every time Mr. Wynter speaks. After he dismissed Mary and the muffins he said “oh Wynter, you’v done it again.”
Note to Mary: not everyone is like you and wants to be the center of attention and not all humans (or animals for that matter) have a “pack mentality”. I’m sociable but I love my alone time and my husband knows that. Why are you going to force someone to be sociable? Get over yourself and find a new hobby other than being the condominium and town pest. Also KM stop having stories around those rancid muffins.
@ Meg: Great stuff, as always!
@ Sandi Ego: I tried to think of something to write about the creepy creeping flora on the stone wall and came up empty. But you nailed it.
-- S. McW.
Mr. Allora is a social creature, too, but when you need your bags moved, all of a sudden he's a pack animal.
@meg—you are amazing!
As much as I enjoy reading the Comics Curmudgeon, he generally can't outsnark my brilliant friends here as far as MW is concerned. But if I can share this without breaking any rules, I thought he hit a home run today when he said:
HELL YES MARY IS GOING TO FIND MEAN OLD MR. WYNTER SOME FRIENDS AND MAYBE A PACK OF FERALS FOR HIS DOG TO JOIN, NOBODY HAS ANY CHOICE IN THE MATTER, MARY HAS SPOKEN
Of course Meg hit a WALKOFF GRAND SLAM!
And another thing. I just noticed Mary's pants and wondered if Derek and the Dominoes would have done so well with a song titled "Bell-Bottom Purples"?
@meg, you're a genius! I wish June would illustrate your story line. June probably does too.
Thank you for all your kind words. And my mother thought I would someday outgrow my 6th grade attitude. How do you like me now, Ma?
I'm beginning to think that Mary's muffins are the same as the cakes labelled "eat me" in Alice in Wonderland. In panel one Mary looks like she's about 7 feet tall. Either that or she's wearing stilts.
Dale Carnegie? What? Just...what? (Chesters head is spinning)
"People....People who need people...Are the toughest nuts to crack in the world" Apologies to Barbra Streisand, and sorry, Mary, the images you mix here do not work. And as for Dale Carnegie, who likely died before Toby was born, Wikipedia points out that Charles Manson was a fan of Carnegie's teaching...
Yes, Charlie was a big fan of Dale Carnegie’s book, How to Win Fiends and Eviscerate People. (too soon?)
"No, I'm saying we shouldn't dismiss him . . . or his dog."
"What do you mean 'we'? You got a squirrel in your pants?"
-- Scottie McW.
Dale Carnegie? Seriously, Karen Moy? We’re well into the 21st century, you know.
The Charterstone pool is quickly becoming the Charterstone duck pond. Tomorrow, Mary and Toby might fish in it with their magnetic rods and plastic fish, providing that they recover from their muffin stupor.
Now really! We all know that the city ordinances would require a fence around that pool. No wonder Olive fell in. The Charterstone Complex is a law suit waiting to happen.
TOBY: "I bet you a dollar you can't fix Mr. Wynter . . ."
MARY: "It's on like Donkey Kong!!!"
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