Estelle is sad. Pierre is sad. Wilbur is definitely sad. But, Libby? Libby is grinning like a diabolical Cheshire. Her evil plan to destroy Wilbur Weston continues right on schedule. Not satisfied with driving a wedge between Wilbur and Estelle, she has now managed to steal his dog, simply by pretending to be its friend. Now, to turn Dawn against him and all will be complete.
17 comments:
The birds in the penultimate panel look like they’re flying through Estelle’s window. I’m beginning to wonder how many animals “Stell” is hoarding in her apartment - yikes. Pot-bellied pigs? Miniature horses? Cockatoos?
He may be the saddest of sad sacks, but I’ll never have even a sliver of compassion for the detestable Wilbur.
Fiends! Charterstonians! Meddlemen! Lend me your beers
I come to give Pierre to Eshtelle, not to whine about him.
The shoes that dogs chew are left behind them
The dogs themselves go to better homes.
So let it be with Pierre. The evil snarkers
Have made jokes that I was spurious
If it were so, it was because of the single malt
And the several I imbibed after it
There before Eshtelle and Dr Ed
That was before the karaoke bar ban.
Thought I’d be like Saul, find myself a hen
‘Cause dogs magnetise chicks except at a funeral.
Eshtelle was my chick, sang duets sitting beside me
But Libby started to howl along
And Eshtelle slapped me with a ban.
I have spent nights outside Eshtelle’s home
While the rain did down my combover spill
Did this to Eshtelle seem scrumptious?
When my shower radio died, Charterstone just slept
All of you should have given me stuff!
But even Sam Driver has fallen on harder times
And Sam Driver was a fortunate man.
You all did know, that on the financial
Field all offered him dollars enough to drown
Enriched him on the slightest excuse; was it their mission?
Yet Sam’s now blackmail’d by a deputy mayor
And Sam was a fortunate man.
I remember how Aldo on canyon rocks broke
And how Mary plann’d her next meddle e’en as he was laid low.
I wonder what secrets lie hid in Charterstone by laws
Must we be fodder for Mary’s meddles, and that’s grim?
Oh Eshtelle! Thou art now happy with thy beasts
But this hath taught me no lesson; wait with me
Mary will make us get back together
And I’ll whine, so she makes muffins for me.
June has no imagination. If I were drawing this strip and wanted to show Libby and Pierre playing together, I would have drawn them sitting at a poker table, Pierre smoking a cigar; Libby wearing a visor and tossing back a shot of bourbon.
HelenClark
Funny stuff, Wanders!
It's funny how Wilbur's sadness brings so much happiness to others.
-- Scottie McW.
Scottie McW., exactly! And that says everything about Wilbur, not us.
HelenClark, I just about fell on the kitchen floor when I read your comment.
I nominate Bill the Butcher for a special Worthy Award for literary merit!
And so....what did we learn? Nothing! Com'on Moy, teach your readers!
KitKat - Careful there! If you break something, we'll have to send you to The People's Clinic to see Dr. Drew!
HelenClark
Helen Clark-
Sending Kit Kat to the People's Clinic ensures either a death sentence, gangrene, or witnessing a skank fight.
Thunderheels - Not to worry. KitKat will be fine. As long as she shows up wearing her Daisy Dukes, square pearl earrings, and toting a gallon of hot coffee.
HelenClark
Did all of you think you'd storyline was over? How precious. Until we have a few weeks of Weelbur thanking Mary this will not be over. So there, and eat your muffins quietly.
Needs to be sticky hot coffee.
Great work, everyone! Today's strip is surely a setup for what we will see at Mary's table on Thursday. All of the petless denizens of the Worthiverse will gather in hair-free comradeship to eat muffin appetizers and turkey.
LouiseF, Thanksgiving 2022 is more likely. I expect at least a week of Sad Sack Wilbur reviewing past interactions to enumerate all the people and animals who can’t stand him, then at least a week of him singing sad songs in the shower (someone alert Mr. Alora to clouds of steam billowing!), then a week of Wilbur contemplating hitting the bottle, followed by a loopy walk or drive to Heartbreak Cliff with a bottle of Jameson’s, and THEN a rescue by Mary, which will take weeks. We’re in for it.
Sad Wilbur did what was best for Pierre. When Mary waves her magic platitude, Wilbur will turn into a real boy.
mr_darcy:
A real boy- and his name shall be Pignocchio.
Tuesday
How about a tarantula, Wilbur? It can sit on top of your head and cover your bald pate, and your lack of self awareness and compassion won’t bother it at all.
Meanwhile, Mary’s whipping up another batch of muffins while blissfully avoiding reality. Judging by her loopy expression, she’s been sipping the cooking sherry again. Hiccup!
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