I think the looks on Libby and Pierre's faces say it all. Even they know this is a bad idea. Ideally, both pack their bindles and get out of town, or call the ASPCA to report those two.
“I miss you too, Wilbur. Remember the time you came into that Thai place drunk as a skunk, spilled food all over yourself, picked a fight with your former girlfriend’s boyfriend, and embarrassed the heck out of me? You made me laugh! And then there was the recent time you threatened to kill my Libby. That was such a hoot! C’mere, my Count of Comb-Overs [smooch]!” Gag….
I completely share in Libby's and Pierre's revulsion. As Thunderheels points out, their "What the !#%&?????" expressions really capture what any reasonably sane being, whether two- or four-legged, would feel in this situation.
On the way back from the compulsory week of grovelling before Mary in abject gratitude, Weelbur stopped suddenly. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To your place,” Eshtelle replied, her eyes black dots of lust like a Great White Shark smelling blood. “We have to make up for lost time, haven’t we?”
“But…” Weelbur’s face took on an expression that made him look even more like a semi-deflated hot air balloon than usual. “I thought we would go to your piano and sing a few duets.”
Eshtelle sighed. “If you must.”
They went to her piano. Weelbur sat down and banged at the keys, his fingers, like gloved carrots pumped full of suet, striking two or three at once as he tilted back his head and began to sing.
Libby tolerated it heroically. It took thirty seconds before she began to yowl. Pierre, after an astonished yelp, had begun barking fit to burst an eardrum or four, if only they had not already been stunned by Weelbur’s cacophony.
“Libby!” Weelbur bawled. “Pierre! No howling when I’m singing or I’ll strangle you both!”
“Weelbur!” Eshtelle’s voice rose in protest. “You said you’d try! You’d try hard!”
“I am,” Weelbur replied. “I’m being trying as hard as I can!”
SATURDAY Bill the Butcher, bingo! I’m not about to propose a Worthy Awards category for “Most Trying Character,” but if it existed, Wilbur would be the character to beat hands down (and that’s saying a lot, with Mary the Muffin Maven in the mix)..
Estelle is increasing in size compared to Wilbur, which I speculate indicates that she’s become the power person in this relationship. Within a week, Wilbur might be the size of a ventriloquist’s dummy, perching on her lap.
Are we allowed to say "puke" here? If we are, I would like to say gallons of puke. Buckets of puke. Aquaria of puke. Ponds of puke. Charterstone pools of puke.
21 comments:
Ewwwwwwww!
-- Scottie McW.
P.S. Funny stuff, Wanders!
I think the looks on Libby and Pierre's faces say it all. Even they know this is a bad idea. Ideally, both pack their bindles and get out of town, or call the ASPCA to report those two.
“I miss you too, Wilbur. Remember the time you came into that Thai place drunk as a skunk, spilled food all over yourself, picked a fight with your former girlfriend’s boyfriend, and embarrassed the heck out of me? You made me laugh! And then there was the recent time you threatened to kill my Libby. That was such a hoot! C’mere, my Count of Comb-Overs [smooch]!” Gag….
I completely share in Libby's and Pierre's revulsion. As Thunderheels points out, their "What the !#%&?????" expressions really capture what any reasonably sane being, whether two- or four-legged, would feel in this situation.
Maybe Estelle's surprise yesterday was simply that this is the farthest she's ever seen Wilbur get from a refrigerator.
HelenClark
Taste has a memory.
Estelle is suddenly remembering mayonnaise.
There's not enough Dramamine in all the world to remedy this.
I
could
barf.
It's a little-known fact that Moy bases the strip on her own life. Have you met her husband, Bilwur?
I
could
barf
too.
Isn't Bilwur one of the dwarves in The Hobbit?
HelenClark:
This is the farthest we’ve ever seen Wilbur get.
meg
And pray that it's the farthest we will ever have to see Wilbur get!
HelenClark
Ah, Wanders, dementia explains it all. Mary too, right?
On the way back from the compulsory week of grovelling before Mary in abject gratitude, Weelbur stopped suddenly. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To your place,” Eshtelle replied, her eyes black dots of lust like a Great White Shark smelling blood. “We have to make up for lost time, haven’t we?”
“But…” Weelbur’s face took on an expression that made him look even more like a semi-deflated hot air balloon than usual. “I thought we would go to your piano and sing a few duets.”
Eshtelle sighed. “If you must.”
They went to her piano. Weelbur sat down and banged at the keys, his fingers, like gloved carrots pumped full of suet, striking two or three at once as he tilted back his head and began to sing.
Libby tolerated it heroically. It took thirty seconds before she began to yowl. Pierre, after an astonished yelp, had begun barking fit to burst an eardrum or four, if only they had not already been stunned by Weelbur’s cacophony.
“Libby!” Weelbur bawled. “Pierre! No howling when I’m singing or I’ll strangle you both!”
“Weelbur!” Eshtelle’s voice rose in protest. “You said you’d try! You’d try hard!”
“I am,” Weelbur replied. “I’m being trying as hard as I can!”
SATURDAY
Bill the Butcher, bingo! I’m not about to propose a Worthy Awards category for “Most Trying Character,” but if it existed, Wilbur would be the character to beat hands down (and that’s saying a lot, with Mary the Muffin Maven in the mix)..
Estelle is increasing in size compared to Wilbur, which I speculate indicates that she’s become the power person in this relationship. Within a week, Wilbur might be the size of a ventriloquist’s dummy, perching on her lap.
So, the comb-over gets yet another do-over. Excuse me while I engage in a puke-over.
(STUNNED SILENCE)
Wilbur gets shorter with every storyline. One or two more he will be hobbit sized. A few more than that and he will disappear.
Are we allowed to say "puke" here? If we are, I would like to say gallons of puke. Buckets of puke. Aquaria of puke. Ponds of puke. Charterstone pools of puke.
If we're not, I'll just hurl by myself.
-- Scottie McW.
Scottie McW., I hear pukelele music loud and clear.
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