Thankfully, Wilbur caught the North Equatorial Current which swiftly washed him ashore on an undiscovered island. When he's finally found in eight years, he'll be a BEAST!
25 comments:
Anonymous
said...
He managed to lose his left sock but not the shoe? He managed to lose his tie but not his glasses? Like I wrote the other day, it's the Worthiverse; anything's possible.
Is the unfamiliar shore unfamiliar only to Wilbur, or to the entire state of California? Remember, this was only a three-day cruise, so how far could the ship have gone?
I’m thinking that Tondaleyo of the Tropics is hiding behind that palm tree, her long, luxurious hair blowing in the wind as she gazes at Wilbur in wonder.
BTW, it’s been exactly ten years since the Costa Concordia accident. Of course, that reminded me of Wilbur and Dawn’s adventures onboard the I’ll-fated Unita del Mare. I scrolled through Wanders’s excellent archives and found the exact moment of Wilbur’s rescue:
ComicsKingdom is selling Wilbur merch. It says "Where's there a Wilbur, There's a Way-bur." I have a sinking (no pun intended, or maybe intended) feeling this is far from over. Please, someone, put us out of our misery.
This is unfortunate, and it sadly makes more sense for this to happen rather then a soap opera comic deal with death. That said, I must admit its really fun to hate/make fun of wilbur's constant terribleness, so this could still be really funny.
Weelbur lay face down on the sand, the waves that had brought him to shore still lapping gently around him. Something swooped by overhead, squarked, and soared away again, an angular shadow painting the sand below it. The tide began to go out, the waves retreated.
Time passed. Weelbur lay face down on the sand.
Something moved among the bushes below the palm trees. A head on a long neck poked out, tilted from side to side, and then the creature stepped out into the open.
It was about the size of a large dog, with stubby wings, scaly legs, huge claws on its feet, a long stiff tail, and a toothed snout that bore a terrifying array of fangs. It stopped a short distance from the man, shook its feathers uncertainly, sniffed tentatively at him, and then, abruptly, making up its mind, turned round and darted back into the trees, as though in a great hurry and knowing exactly where it had to go.
Weelbur lay on the unknown beach, alone once more.
_____________________________________
I had just opened the first file of the day when there was a commotion in the outer office.
“I’ve got to see the chief!” a familiar voice squawked. “It’s vital!”
I sighed. Knowing the owner of that voice, I knew there wouldn’t be getting rid of him until I talked to him. He’d screech and scream and make things impossible until I did.
“Let him in,” I called, putting the file away.
There was a brief pause and then Jamsakhurgiin Jangezkhaan hurtled in through the door, as though someone had physically propelled him inside. Probably someone had. “Chief!”
I looked at him. “What is it this time, Jangezkhaan? World ending meteors again?”
He shook his feathered head impatiently and opened his snout wide, drawing in a deep breath. I held up a hand, not just to stop him from speaking but to block off the sight of all those teeth. Of course, as a Velociraptor he was far too small to harm me, but carnivore dentition is not one of my favourite things on earth. All that evolutionary history leaves a mrk, even in these civilised times.
“Speak slowly,” I said. “Speak calmly. I’m right here. No need to shout.”
“It’s a monster,” he gabbled. He was loud, but at least not enough to blow out the windows. “A monster down on the beach!”
I blinked my nictitating membranes. This was new. Jamsakhurgiin Jangezkhaan’s usual rubbish was more along the lines of “cross-shaped UFO roaring by overhead trailing lines of white cloud” or “gigantic steel house moving across the sea, far away on the horizon,” or, of course, the “world ending meteor strike that’s going to happen any day now.”
“You saw it? It’s down there now?”
He signified assent, which was bad enough. Even worse was that his stiff tail knocked over my cup of coffee. What the hell was I supposed to do without my cup of coffee?
“Show me,” I said. _____________________________________
Whenever I go out of the office I put on my oversized police badge, the one so big that it requires a harness. It’s probably not necessary, but as I said, evolution. A hadrosaur has to be careful; she can’t tell when a tyrannosaurid or an allosaur might forget that we’re a law abiding society now.
“You’re in charge,” I called over my shoulder to my deputy, Li Yongzhang. He’s a Tarbosaurus, and I have nightmares that he’s eating me alive so he can take over my job. That in real life he’s only been polite and efficient only convinces my subconscious mind that he’s just biding his time. “I’ll be back soon...I suppose.”
This, as it turned out, was one of my worst predictions ever.
_____________________________________
The beach was crowded with dinosaurs of all the sentient species when I arrived, as well as some non-dinosaurids. A Kronosaurus – old Bruce, naturally – was poking his head out of the waves as well, and I could almost see him licking his teeth hungrily. The water was still at a safe distance, though, and I pushed my way through the throng to see what it was that they were ogling.
And there was my first surprise. It was a monster, just as Jamsakhurgiin Jangezkhaan had said.
Of course I’d thought it would be something perfectly ordinary, like a rotting mosasaur or an infant Elasmosaurus. Instead it was something I had never encountered before; something I’d never imagined could even exist.
It was medium sized, larger than Jangezkhaan but smaller than one of my legs. It was rounded, and so heavy that it had made a depression in the sand beneath. It had limbs in the rough approximation of those of a dinosaur, but no tail. What kind of creature has no tail? And from what was probably supposed to be a head, straggling filaments grew, slathered over the bulge of its skull.
That wasn’t the strangest thing, though, oh no. The thing wore clothing of a kind, It wasn’t naked. It was...it had to be...the product of civilisation!
“What are you playing at?” I asked Jangezkhaan. “This thing can’t possibly be real. You must have created it in your basement, or something.”
He blinked at me and drew back his lips in a terrifying grin. “It’s alive, chief. What kind of thing would I create that’s alive?”
“<>Alive?<>” I looked at it for a while, baffled, but jangezkhaan was right. The creature’s chest rose and fell. “What do you think it is?”
“It has no scales,” Jangezkhaan said. “It has no feathers. It does, however, have hairs.” He tapped one of his talons at the filaments sprouting from the monster’s scalp. “It is, therefore, a mammal.”
I felt like laughing. A mammal! Mammals were little things that hid from us and scavenged in the granaries. They were so endangered that there was talk of declaring them protected species. But then I looked at the impossible thing before me, and the laugh died in my spatulate beak.
It was breathing. It was air breathing. It had hair. Which in turn meant...my mind whirled with sickening realisation.
I reached for my belt radio. “Li,” I said, “get me the president at once!”
Above him hung a face. It was a gigantic face, with a hooked beak sloping back to huge curved horns, one over each eye, and behind them a crest that was edged with rows of spikes.
The creature flinched slightly at the scream, but recovered.
“Monster,” it said, “my name is Dr Spike Hornbearer, and you’re under my care. Don’t worry, you’re safe.”
Weelbur’s mouth moved. “Where,” he whispered, “am I?”
“In my veterninary hospital, of course.” Dr Hornbearer’s beak twitched in an attempt at a smile. “You were washed up on our beach sometime last night. It took a while to revive you. Now...” he looked down at a clipboard. “You’re a mammal, and obviously far more evolved than any we’ve ever known. That means you must be from elsewhere. I’m not authorised to ask you about that but...” the great head gestured. “There are dinosaurs outside just waiting for their turn to grill you. A national emergency has been declared. After all,” he said, “you’re not just a sensation, but a threat.”
“A threat?” Weelbur shook his head so hard that his jowls flapped. “How can I be a threat? I never harmed anyone...except Eshtelle, come to think of it...and Carol...and Libby. And maybe Irish, but she got Zak. Auuuuughhhh!”
Dr Hornbearer took eager notes. “So you’re dangerous as well as strange,” he said. “That’s good information. We will need to know everything so we can prepare to exterminate your species. Now, before I turn you over to the government, do you need anything?”
Of course! If you were to make a short list of the most unlikely, ridiculous things that could happen in any scenario, you can be sure that Moy will come up with one of them. What a hack.
Bill, I love your fanfic, its significantly better then the comic. My own prediction was going to be Wilbur becoming some sort of druglord or something.
*SIGH* (written in boldface italics and followed by grawlixes)
I think we were all expecting this on some level, but it's still bitterly disappointing to see Wilbur utterly fail even at going out in a total blaze of Fluster. At this point I'll only be satisfied if a further plot twist leads to a crossover with Cannibal Island, Lord of the Flies, or the Island of Dr Moreau.
If at next year's Worthy Awards there is no one eligible to receive the Aldo Kelrast Memorial Award, it'll have to be awarded to Karen Moy's last shred of credibility.
I'd feel a lot better about today's strip if P2 narration box started with "His body..." rather than "He."
@Ian Cameron, PHD: I thought Moy's last shred of cred already blew away when Ashlee, out of the farthest reaches of left field, got on that bus and departed for a new job in a new town.
The island natives will nurse him back to health, and make him one of their own. He will become a Wise Man. Generations hence will commemorate the day the Gods delivered Weeba to them.
This beach on Catalina Island may be unfamiliar to Wilbur…Nevertheless, he hauls himself astride a friendly native bison and rides to the nearest sandwich shop.
25 comments:
He managed to lose his left sock but not the shoe? He managed to lose his tie but not his glasses? Like I wrote the other day, it's the Worthiverse; anything's possible.
HelenClark
Is the unfamiliar shore unfamiliar only to Wilbur, or to the entire state of California? Remember, this was only a three-day cruise, so how far could the ship have gone?
I’m thinking that Tondaleyo of the Tropics is hiding behind that palm tree, her long, luxurious hair blowing in the wind as she gazes at Wilbur in wonder.
BTW, it’s been exactly ten years since the Costa Concordia accident. Of course, that reminded me of Wilbur and Dawn’s adventures onboard the I’ll-fated Unita del Mare. I scrolled through Wanders’s excellent archives and found the exact moment of Wilbur’s rescue:
https://maryworthandme.blogspot.com/search/label/Wilbur%20Weston?updated-max=2012-11-05T09:08:00-05:00&max-results=20&start=300&by-date=false
No. No no no no no no no no no. (Bad word) you, Moy, you gave me hope and then you snatched it away.
ComicsKingdom is selling Wilbur merch. It says "Where's there a Wilbur, There's a Way-bur." I have a sinking (no pun intended, or maybe intended) feeling this is far from over.
Please, someone, put us out of our misery.
Ill-fated, not what autocorrect put! The date of the rescue panel is 8/7/2012, with artwork by the peerless Mr. Giella.
This is unfortunate, and it sadly makes more sense for this to happen rather then a soap opera comic deal with death. That said, I must admit its really fun to hate/make fun of wilbur's constant terribleness, so this could still be really funny.
Thanks for that reminder, KitKat! Not only Uncle Joe's fabulous artwork but some of Wanders' classic commentary.
"Quick. Get on the helicopter before the other 4,000 passengers notice."
If anyone is ever having a bad day and needs a laugh, I highly recommend scrolling through Wanders' archives.
HelenClark
Weelbur lay face down on the sand, the waves that had brought him to shore still lapping gently around him. Something swooped by overhead, squarked, and soared away again, an angular shadow painting the sand below it. The tide began to go out, the waves retreated.
Time passed. Weelbur lay face down on the sand.
Something moved among the bushes below the palm trees. A head on a long neck poked out, tilted from side to side, and then the creature stepped out into the open.
It was about the size of a large dog, with stubby wings, scaly legs, huge claws on its feet, a long stiff tail, and a toothed snout that bore a terrifying array of fangs. It stopped a short distance from the man, shook its feathers uncertainly, sniffed tentatively at him, and then, abruptly, making up its mind, turned round and darted back into the trees, as though in a great hurry and knowing exactly where it had to go.
Weelbur lay on the unknown beach, alone once more.
_____________________________________
I had just opened the first file of the day when there was a commotion in the outer office.
“I’ve got to see the chief!” a familiar voice squawked. “It’s vital!”
I sighed. Knowing the owner of that voice, I knew there wouldn’t be getting rid of him until I talked to him. He’d screech and scream and make things impossible until I did.
“Let him in,” I called, putting the file away.
There was a brief pause and then Jamsakhurgiin Jangezkhaan hurtled in through the door, as though someone had physically propelled him inside. Probably someone had. “Chief!”
I looked at him. “What is it this time, Jangezkhaan? World ending meteors again?”
He shook his feathered head impatiently and opened his snout wide, drawing in a deep breath. I held up a hand, not just to stop him from speaking but to block off the sight of all those teeth. Of course, as a Velociraptor he was far too small to harm me, but carnivore dentition is not one of my favourite things on earth. All that evolutionary history leaves a mrk, even in these civilised times.
“Speak slowly,” I said. “Speak calmly. I’m right here. No need to shout.”
“It’s a monster,” he gabbled. He was loud, but at least not enough to blow out the windows. “A monster down on the beach!”
I blinked my nictitating membranes. This was new. Jamsakhurgiin Jangezkhaan’s usual rubbish was more along the lines of “cross-shaped UFO roaring by overhead trailing lines of white cloud” or “gigantic steel house moving across the sea, far away on the horizon,” or, of course, the “world ending meteor strike that’s going to happen any day now.”
“You saw it? It’s down there now?”
He signified assent, which was bad enough. Even worse was that his stiff tail knocked over my cup of coffee. What the hell was I supposed to do without my cup of coffee?
“Show me,” I said.
_____________________________________
Whenever I go out of the office I put on my oversized police badge, the one so big that it requires a harness. It’s probably not necessary, but as I said, evolution. A hadrosaur has to be careful; she can’t tell when a tyrannosaurid or an allosaur might forget that we’re a law abiding society now.
“You’re in charge,” I called over my shoulder to my deputy, Li Yongzhang. He’s a Tarbosaurus, and I have nightmares that he’s eating me alive so he can take over my job. That in real life he’s only been polite and efficient only convinces my subconscious mind that he’s just biding his time. “I’ll be back soon...I suppose.”
This, as it turned out, was one of my worst predictions ever.
_____________________________________
The beach was crowded with dinosaurs of all the sentient species when I arrived, as well as some non-dinosaurids. A Kronosaurus – old Bruce, naturally – was poking his head out of the waves as well, and I could almost see him licking his teeth hungrily. The water was still at a safe distance, though, and I pushed my way through the throng to see what it was that they were ogling.
And there was my first surprise. It was a monster, just as Jamsakhurgiin Jangezkhaan had said.
Of course I’d thought it would be something perfectly ordinary, like a rotting mosasaur or an infant Elasmosaurus. Instead it was something I had never encountered before; something I’d never imagined could even exist.
It was medium sized, larger than Jangezkhaan but smaller than one of my legs. It was rounded, and so heavy that it had made a depression in the sand beneath. It had limbs in the rough approximation of those of a dinosaur, but no tail. What kind of creature has no tail? And from what was probably supposed to be a head, straggling filaments grew, slathered over the bulge of its skull.
That wasn’t the strangest thing, though, oh no. The thing wore clothing of a kind, It wasn’t naked. It was...it had to be...the product of civilisation!
“What are you playing at?” I asked Jangezkhaan. “This thing can’t possibly be real. You must have created it in your basement, or something.”
He blinked at me and drew back his lips in a terrifying grin. “It’s alive, chief. What kind of thing would I create that’s alive?”
“<>Alive?<>” I looked at it for a while, baffled, but jangezkhaan was right. The creature’s chest rose and fell. “What do you think it is?”
“It has no scales,” Jangezkhaan said. “It has no feathers. It does, however, have hairs.” He tapped one of his talons at the filaments sprouting from the monster’s scalp. “It is, therefore, a mammal.”
I felt like laughing. A mammal! Mammals were little things that hid from us and scavenged in the granaries. They were so endangered that there was talk of declaring them protected species. But then I looked at the impossible thing before me, and the laugh died in my spatulate beak.
It was breathing. It was air breathing. It had hair. Which in turn meant...my mind whirled with sickening realisation.
I reached for my belt radio. “Li,” I said, “get me the president at once!”
_____________________________________
Weelbur Weston opened his eyes.
And screamed.
Above him hung a face. It was a gigantic face, with a hooked beak sloping back to huge curved horns, one over each eye, and behind them a crest that was edged with rows of spikes.
The creature flinched slightly at the scream, but recovered.
“Monster,” it said, “my name is Dr Spike Hornbearer, and you’re under my care. Don’t worry, you’re safe.”
Weelbur’s mouth moved. “Where,” he whispered, “am I?”
“In my veterninary hospital, of course.” Dr Hornbearer’s beak twitched in an attempt at a smile. “You were washed up on our beach sometime last night. It took a while to revive you. Now...” he looked down at a clipboard. “You’re a mammal, and obviously far more evolved than any we’ve ever known. That means you must be from elsewhere. I’m not authorised to ask you about that but...” the great head gestured. “There are dinosaurs outside just waiting for their turn to grill you. A national emergency has been declared. After all,” he said, “you’re not just a sensation, but a threat.”
“A threat?” Weelbur shook his head so hard that his jowls flapped. “How can I be a threat? I never harmed anyone...except Eshtelle, come to think of it...and Carol...and Libby. And maybe Irish, but she got Zak. Auuuuughhhh!”
Dr Hornbearer took eager notes. “So you’re dangerous as well as strange,” he said. “That’s good information. We will need to know everything so we can prepare to exterminate your species. Now, before I turn you over to the government, do you need anything?”
Weelbur sighed, and thought but a moment.
“Take me to your mayo,” he said.
Of course! If you were to make a short list of the most unlikely, ridiculous things that could happen in any scenario, you can be sure that Moy will come up with one of them. What a hack.
-- Scottie McW.
Bill, I love your fanfic, its significantly better then the comic. My own prediction was going to be Wilbur becoming some sort of druglord or something.
*SIGH* (written in boldface italics and followed by grawlixes)
I think we were all expecting this on some level, but it's still bitterly disappointing to see Wilbur utterly fail even at going out in a total blaze of Fluster. At this point I'll only be satisfied if a further plot twist leads to a crossover with Cannibal Island, Lord of the Flies, or the Island of Dr Moreau.
If at next year's Worthy Awards there is no one eligible to receive the Aldo Kelrast Memorial Award, it'll have to be awarded to Karen Moy's last shred of credibility.
There's still hope. Maybe he washed up on Sentinel Island. The people there are not friendly to outsiders.
Sure, it's way over in the Indian Ocean, but I think anything is possible in this strip now.
I'd feel a lot better about today's strip if P2 narration box started with "His body..." rather than "He."
@Ian Cameron, PHD: I thought Moy's last shred of cred already blew away when Ashlee, out of the farthest reaches of left field, got on that bus and departed for a new job in a new town.
The island natives will nurse him back to health, and make him one of their own. He will become a Wise Man. Generations hence will commemorate the day the Gods delivered Weeba to them.
As an Indian, I can assure you that Sentinelese arrows won't penetrate fluster.
Today's featured panel also doubles as the cover of my Steely Dan* cassette mixtape.
* I offer my apologies to the host if references to that band are not considered family friendly.
Perhaps Wilbur is on Ship-Tap Island from "The Most Dangerous Game". Although the hunt would lead to the fridge and a jar of mayo.
Ship-Trap, can't spell today.
"Skipper, Skipper! Come here quick, a man just washed up on the beach!"
This beach on Catalina Island may be unfamiliar to Wilbur…Nevertheless, he hauls himself astride a friendly native bison and rides to the nearest sandwich shop.
He lives!
TUESDAY: he still has his glasses? His GLASSES, just hanging off one ear? Oh for Pete’s sake…
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