I get that panel 2 is more exciting as Mary gets her meddle on, but this panel is more interesting to me (I'm just not interested in excitment; thus, the existence of this blog). Note Mary's use of the plural, "Their previous
relationships." This is accurate. Estelle and Wilbur have broken up at least twice. But Mary has refused to give up on them. Perhaps she knows they're both idiots and perfect for each other.
Happy Thanksgiving everybody.
28 comments:
"We all have to turn away from the blinding light that is Mary, never to be looked upon by the impure. Oh, and there's food too I guess."
I have seen some pretty terrible ideas in this strip, and of course I'm reading ironically in the first place, but I really do think that if Mary forces Wilbur and Estelle back together I won't be able to stomach it any more.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family, Wanders! Thank you for this blog and for the opportunity to virtually visit my Worthiverse comrades. Thanks also for Mr. Giella’s Thanksgiving flashback. There’s nary a muffin in sight. It’s been way too long since we saw Professor Chinbeard (sigh).
Roger BW, none of us could stomach Mary’s muffins, either.
Happy Thanksgiving to all! If turkey is on your menu, may it not be stuffed with muffins
Happy Thanksgiving to Wanders and y'all. I may not be able to enjoy the traditional Thanksgiving meal myself because I'm still sick to my stomophagus due to Mary's musings yesterday. "Wilbur's a good guy." No, he's not. He's never given us any indication that he is, and we get to see him and hear his thoughts when Mary can't. He's not a "diamond in the rough," either. More like a turd in a hairball. Or, to parallel the holiday turducken combo, a turd in a hairball in a scuzz bucket. He has no redeeming features at all is what I'm getting at. Trying to fix this split is perhaps her most misguided intervention ever. But if Mary considers herself a "wing woman," why is she trying to ply her meddling with a bag of muffins instead of a big platter of greasy chicken wings?
Anyway, here's a holiday tune from ex-Kink, Raymond Douglas Davies: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yD2PXEue-Jw
What did Estelle do to Mary that makes Mary want to force Wilbur on her? Why doesn't Mary date Wilbur if he's so great?
She still hasn't even asked why they broke up this last time. It sure didn't make Wilbur look very good.
Happy Thanksgiving Wanders and family and to the MW&M family. I’m thankful for you all.
I’m thankful for Mary and those magic muffins. All shall go according to wingwoman Mary’s plan so Wilbur and Estelle can sing together and the animals will keep each other occupied. Then again, maybe it won’t.
Happy Thanksgiving Wanders and all!
And thank you for the shout out, KitKat - it seems like years since I've made an actual appearance. Wanders' vintage strip brings back fond memories of good times tucking into Mary's classic Splak turducken while wearing my best teal tweed sportcoat and white Nehru shirt. (As you can see Toby suffered from a botched plastic surgery around that time so we've been laying low since then, but I think it's mostly due to some deep seated insecurity on June's part about her ability to do justice to my lustrous chinbeard.)
Mary baked some muffins, she did ride,
Un-huh, un-huh
Bag of muffins and chicken wings by her side,
Un-huh, un-huh
She strode up to Wilbur Weston’s door,
Un-huh, un-huh
A place she’s often been before,
Un-huh, un-huh
Wilbur, he came tripping down,
Un-huh, un-huh
Wearing a ratty plaid dressing gown,
Un-huh, un-huh
Said, “FFS, Mary, what are you doing here?”
Un-huh, un-huh
I’m still working on my post-breakfast beer,
Un-huh, un-huh
“You must know it’s Thanksgiving Day.
Un-huh, un-huh
And my OverEats delivery is on its way,”
Un-huh, un-huh
Mary would not be denied,
Un-huh, un-huh
Said, “Oh, Wilbur let me come inside,”
Un-huh, un-huh
“Mary, I don’t want your @#$&* muffins,
Un-huh, un-huh
Today I’m having Turkey and stuffing’’
Un-huh, un-huh
”Oh, Wilbur, I just brought a few (a few dozen)
Un-huh, un-huh
You won’t bite off more than you can chew”
Un-huh, un-huh
“Mary, I have made it plain,
Un-huh, un-huh
Your muffins- and everything else you cook- give me stomach pain
Un-huh, un-huh
Wilbur, no one loves you, and no wonder,
Un-huh, un-huh
HMMPFH!
I’LL JUST GIVE THESE TO SOMEONE WHO APPRECIATES FINE CUISINE!
Wilbur:
Un-huh, un-huh
Good luck with that!
Hi All,
I thank you, Wanders and all the denizons of MW & M for the very many laughs since I first wandered into this gin joint.
I have nothing to add except that Dr Jeff looks gutted. Was it the turkey? the muffins? Or the realization that he is trapped and can never get out?
Happy Thanksgiving All!
Grateful Ole Doc
Happy Thanksgiving to Wanders and his family, and to all my friends in the Worthiverse. I am very thankful for your company and the many laughs I get from this wonderful blog. Sometimes it's the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning!
I'm guessing that Uncle Joe is still checking in too (he's only 93) and that he's torqued that June no longer addresses the traditional holiday feast at Mary's place. Fortunately, Wanders reminds us of those halcyon days.
HelenClark
Wow, in your Thanksgiving panel Dr Jeff looks acutely nauseated, doesn't he? And who could blame him?
Friday:
Tomorrow Weelbur tries to take his fish for a walk at the fish beach to meet magnetised chicks. He encounters a magnetic chick walking a bull shark. The bull shark eats Weelbur. Everyone rejoices. The bull shark has to have an emergency stomach pumping because it’s allergic to mayonnaise. Mary wobbles in with muffins and platitudes as Weelbur sits up in his hospital bed. Everyone stops rejoicing. The end.
Sorry I am late to the party. I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving day. I, too, am glad to be part of the MW&M family. May all of you have a beautiful weekend.
Wanders, you bring joy and humor to an otherwise dreadful experience called "Mary Worth". I salute you sir.
FRIDAY
If only Estelle had said “pleasant” with sarcasm dripping from her mouth. That’s too much to hope for from a woman who still associates with Wilbur.
Treats for Libby, huh? Now we know what Mary does with the uneaten salmon squares from Charterstone pool parties. (There haven’t been any pool parties for ages, so we know how old those salmon squares are.) How will the Meddler react when she finds out that Pierre has joined the household and she has no treats for him?
Panel 2: I wonder why Wilbur put what appears to be a human brain in his fish tank? No wonder those fish look worried.
FRIDAY
I don't know how, KitKat, but somehow Mary knows that Pierre is now living with Estelle. Yesterday, her little bag of goodies contained muffins, fish shaped treats but also some treats shaped like bones.
I also don't know how, but somehow those fish obviously recognize Wilbur from somewhere.
HelenClark
I love the expressions on the fish's faces. "Oh God, no! What have they done to us??? HELLLPPPP!!! Somebody notify PETA immediately!"
-- Scottie McW.
P.S. Happy Gorge-On-Leftovers Day, everyone!
Those poor fish know Wilbur from his frolic in the sea a few years ago with Fabina (I think that was her name), where they saw a little too much of Wilbur.
Weelbur came to Charterstone on the Maryworth run.
The capital city of Charterstone, in fact the only human settlement, was Eshtelle, and Weelbur – who had previously been on First Light (the satellite of Dawn, as you may know), Irish and Fabiana, not to speak of a brief visit to Carol – was, nevertheless, fascinated. Eshtelle was grey and purple and had no self regard; after losing all her outworld possessions to a sudden raid by Arther pirates from Zerro, she had nothing to have regard for anyway.
It was while wandering the streets, wondering what to do on this planet to make himself at home, that Weelbur saw a sign that fairly screamed at him. PETS R US, it proclaimed, in shrieking letters. Weelbur, looking up at the sign, was almost struck by a magnetised chick flying by, and, in reflex, ducked through the door into another world.
And what a world it was! One eyed smiling animals that resembled cats howled from the corners and urinated on chair-shaped stands. Pudgy grey pseudo-dogs bared vampire fangs and bit down on food shaped like shoes. Both radiated an almost physical coldness towards Weelbur, who flinched, and might have left the store again, but for the threat of being struck by one of the many magnetised chicks flying by.
“Well, slap my head and call me silly!” A voice proclaimed at Weelbur’s shoulder, so suddenly that he would have jumped had his physique made him capable of that feat. “It’s you, Ask Wendy!”
Weelbur spun around slowly, like a drunken aldokelrast. The scantily clad young blonde behind him grinned a very wide grin, her eyes quickly flashing to Weelbur’s wrist to see what kind of watch he was wearing. Apparently his item of wrist apparel, while serviceable, did not meet some standard, for she looked acutely disappointed. “My name is Trashlee. So…are you here for a pet?”
“A pet?” Weelbur blinked slowly at the novel idea. “What do pets do?”
“Well, for one thing,” Trashlee pointed at yet another magnetised chick flying by. “They’re chick magnets. Of course, you have to be careful because a magnetised chick can cause severe damage.” She touched her cheek gingerly, where there was an irregular blotch, as though something had been thrown on it by a magnetised chick in the past and hadn’t come off. “But maybe,” and her eyes went again to his wrist, “you aren’t interested in magnetised chicks right at the moment. Maybe you would prefer something else.” She looked Weelbur up and down, from his combover down to his paunch and further down to his scuffed shoes. “Something that might…worship you, one could say. You would like something like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Worship me?” Weelbur’s small eyes lit up at the idea. “Tell me more.”
“Come this way.” Navigating between two walls of freezing cold thrown towards him by the one eyed smiling cat creatures and the grey pudgy pseudo-dogs, Weelbur followed Trashlee to something set on a table. “Here you are.”
“This?” Weelbur peered at the thing. To his eyes it looked only to be a box of some transparent material, filled with a bluish, rippling fluid. The bottom of the box was lined with a substrate of pebbly material on which two large, green, fanlike structures waved. “What is this?”
“Wait a moment.” And then, swimming slowly through the bluish fluid with rippling fins, appeared two creatures. Weelbur, who had never seen such alien beasts before, flinched instinctively.
“Holy Meddler,” he said, “what are those?”
“Creatures who will worship you.” Trashlee leaned over the box, gesturing. “They’re trapped in the box. They can’t live in air. They’re dependent on you for food and hygiene and oxygen, for their entire existence. They can’t help but worship you.”
Weelbur looked at the aliens, fascinated. Their skins were covered with some kind of armour resembling chain mail. Their eyes, flat black circles set in white, swivelled, watching him warily. Weelbur had seen such wariness before, in chicks who had swiftly become unmagnetised in his presence. But they could escape, and had. These creatures, trapped as they were, could not.
“I’ll take it!” he said.
From the depths of the xglth fluid sloshing around in their spaceship – still stranded on this planet, but hopefully not for long, the repairs almost having been completed – Captain-Admiral Sxcerrknmlmb and General-Commodore Mrkcgurrbvk watched the distorted face of the giant alien peering down fatly at them. “Ghunb, but this one is ugly,” the General-Commodore said. “The more of them I see, the uglier they are, but this one takes the cake. What do you think it’s trying to do with us now?”
The Captain-Admiral looked up at the pellets the gigantic beast had dropped into the fluid. “I think it is attempting to feed us,” sclee replied. “I think it imagines that it is keeping us alive.”
“And in return for…?” The General-Commodore shook mer fins in sudden realisation. “It expects us to be grateful in return. It expects us to worship it, as though we were just a couple of posha mach!”
Both intrepid explorers shook in silent laughter. “The repairs will be finished by tomorrow morning anyway,” the Captain-Admiral said. “Until then, shall we have some fun?”
The General-Commodore turned mer mouth down in a way that had sent whole schools of enemies fleeing in terror. “Why not?” sclee said. “It’s not as though we don’t deserve a little fun, after all.”
Wilbur, the people at the fish store COERCED you to buy the food and tank. They are SALES people, not spiritual advisors.
Now, what might happen if Estelle were to ask Wilbur to babysit Libby while Estelle takes Pierre to the vet for his checkup?
I don’t know, but I hope it will be shocking!
Sunday:
Weelbur will soon be sleeping with the fishes.
I’m with you, Meg. Especially if a panicked Wilbur rushes his critically injured fishies to Dr Ed’s office only to find him and Estelle in flagrante delicto. Now that will require a lot of karaoke and muffins to work through.
Wilbur stared lovingly at his brawny, agile new pets, considering what to name them. And suddenly, he had an overwhelming desire to dip them in beaten egg, roll them in bread crumbs, and sautéed them in melted butter.
meg - He named them Tar and Tar.
Anonymous: what a saucy reply!
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