Enabling and fawning over Wilbur has made things worse, Mary. Your “old friend” has been turned into a monster who thinks he’s invulnerable, so thanks for nothing, you muffin pusher. I hope tomorrow he casts his beady eyes at you and asks, “And how old are you now, Mary?”
I bet a dollar to a donut (not a muffin!) that KM pulled the Camerons off a dusty back shelf simply to serve as props this week. When Wilburfest ends, she’ll shove them back and they’ll disappear again. Stand by for more “counseling” of Estelle to take back Wilbur for the umpteenth time.
Wilbur's weird meh response to his survival fills me with more loathing than anything he's done. I fell 100 feet into the ocean but didn't get hurt meh. I didn't get run over by the ship, meh. I didn't drown, even though I can't swim, meh. I didn't get eaten by a shark, meh. I didn't get attacked by Humboldt squids, meh. I washed up on a resort island. Meh to all of that. Drop him in a volcano.
Whatt in the world is going on with this conversation. Do the After-Effects include making a bizarre non-sequitur then having everyone immediately move on without any reference to it? I guess we have to mark these occasions otherwise they'll just slip by. In the end it's lucky Toby was too paralyzed with Botox to respond.
Dammit, Mary. I've spent half my life reading this dopey strip with the sole purpose of finding out how old Toby is, and you have to go and wreck it by opening your big mouth!
Some seriousy herky-jerky dialogue between today and yesterday. Mary sounds appalled at Wilbur's blurted out question about Toby's age yesterday, and today she's calling him a "blessing". Perhaps Ian suspects Wilbur fell on his head, given Wilbur's impulsive question, and he is diverting the conversation away from the obvious difference in Ian's and Toby's ages. Oh, I just do not care about ANY of these characters. I'd rather follow up on Ashlee and her new job.
Amen, LouiseF. Moy's clunky dropping of the Ashlee story rankled, but I finally figured, well, she just got tired of it and cut it off, which is of course her right as the author. Fain wouldst she likewise grow weary of Mr. Weston.
Suddenly, I heard a child’s cry: “Please, Mr Weston (I was well-known on board due to my lectures and readings from my latest book “True Survivor” -$19.95 on Amazon and wherever books are sold), save my kitty cat!” There, ahead of me on the rail, was a purebred Abyssinian cat, her orange coat and white leather Coach collar catching the lights of the forecastle (or fo’c’sle to an old tar such as myself) deck. The elegant feline was standing on the ship’s railing, about 25 feet away. What could I do? ‘Man up, Weston!’ I said to myself,’that little girl in the Armani Junior Jean jacket is counting on you!’
I climbed atop the railing and began edging my way toward the cat, ‘Here, kitty, kitty, ‘ “ Her name is Madelena, not Kitty!”
Just then, as I turned to reassure Angelina Jolie’s daughter (for that is who she was), I lost my balance, and despite my trademark cat-like balance, I tumbled overboard, calling ‘Cling to your cat, girl!’ as I fell 500 feet to the water (and to my almost certain doom).
19 comments:
Read today's Mark Trail: Crossover revisionist history!
“Some say” = “Mary says”
Enabling and fawning over Wilbur has made things worse, Mary. Your “old friend” has been turned into a monster who thinks he’s invulnerable, so thanks for nothing, you muffin pusher. I hope tomorrow he casts his beady eyes at you and asks, “And how old are you now, Mary?”
I bet a dollar to a donut (not a muffin!) that KM pulled the Camerons off a dusty back shelf simply to serve as props this week. When Wilburfest ends, she’ll shove them back and they’ll disappear again. Stand by for more “counseling” of Estelle to take back Wilbur for the umpteenth time.
Wilbur's next book will be The Whole World Wishes I Was Dead But I'm Not.
Wilbur's weird meh response to his survival fills me with more loathing than anything he's done. I fell 100 feet into the ocean but didn't get hurt meh. I didn't get run over by the ship, meh. I didn't drown, even though I can't swim, meh. I didn't get eaten by a shark, meh. I didn't get attacked by Humboldt squids, meh. I washed up on a resort island. Meh to all of that. Drop him in a volcano.
Whatt in the world is going on with this conversation. Do the After-Effects include making a bizarre non-sequitur then having everyone immediately move on without any reference to it? I guess we have to mark these occasions otherwise they'll just slip by. In the end it's lucky Toby was too paralyzed with Botox to respond.
Wilbur was throwing shade at Ian, “implying” that Toby is Ian’s daughter rather than his wife.
Dammit, Mary. I've spent half my life reading this dopey strip with the sole purpose of finding out how old Toby is, and you have to go and wreck it by opening your big mouth!
HelenClark
Some seriousy herky-jerky dialogue between today and yesterday. Mary sounds appalled at Wilbur's blurted out question about Toby's age yesterday, and today she's calling him a "blessing". Perhaps Ian suspects Wilbur fell on his head, given Wilbur's impulsive question, and he is diverting the conversation away from the obvious difference in Ian's and Toby's ages. Oh, I just do not care about ANY of these characters. I'd rather follow up on Ashlee and her new job.
Ha haaa! Funny stuff, Wanders! You too, KitKat and Dr. Cameron!
-- Scottie McW.
"Say, Wilbur, maybe you really are invulnerable! That would be great! Why don't you jump off Kelrast Cliffs and prove it?"
Amen, LouiseF. Moy's clunky dropping of the Ashlee story rankled, but I finally figured, well, she just got tired of it and cut it off, which is of course her right as the author. Fain wouldst she likewise grow weary of Mr. Weston.
Wilbur Overboard- A Tale of Manly Courage and Constant Product Placement
A bracing wind from the southwest flung lashings of warm rain into my face, nearly extinguishing my mahogany Dunwoodie pipe (filled with Argentinian-grown Burley broadleaf tobacco). I belted my Hugo Boss greatcoat more snugly around me, enjoying the pounding of the waves against the moderately rocking ship- the very model of a seafaring gentleman, a veritable old salt. My fiancée Felicity was sleeping soundly in our Premiere Deck Suite aboard the Quantum of Solace of the Seas. Felicity had a few too many glasses of Dom Perignon, but I was still bright eyed and eager to experience a storm at sea, confident that my lug-soled Prada boots would keep me steady on my feet.
Suddenly, I heard a child’s cry: “Please, Mr Weston (I was well-known on board due to my lectures and readings from my latest book “True Survivor” -$19.95 on Amazon and wherever books are sold), save my kitty cat!” There, ahead of me on the rail, was a purebred Abyssinian cat, her orange coat and white leather Coach collar catching the lights of the forecastle (or fo’c’sle to an old tar such as myself) deck. The elegant feline was standing on the ship’s railing, about 25 feet away. What could I do? ‘Man up, Weston!’ I said to myself,’that little girl in the Armani Junior Jean jacket is counting on you!’
I climbed atop the railing and began edging my way toward the cat, ‘Here, kitty, kitty, ‘ “ Her name is Madelena, not Kitty!”
Just then, as I turned to reassure Angelina Jolie’s daughter (for that is who she was), I lost my balance, and despite my trademark cat-like balance, I tumbled overboard, calling ‘Cling to your cat, girl!’ as I fell 500 feet to the water (and to my almost certain doom).
To be continued…
meg, thanks for that mid-afternoon slew of guffaws! I can't wait for the denouement.
@meg, you are a marvel - thank you!
Wilbur is heinous, but today's Mark Trail is funny.
THURSDAY
Gee, Toby didn’t give Mary and Wilbur party goody bags to take home.
Tomorrow: Ian closes the door and sighs in relief, “Ach, I thought they’d never leave, lass!” as Toby opens the Dewar’s.
Testing 1 2 3…
For some reason, I can’t post my Wilbur conclusion.
I really like and appreciate your post.Thanks Again. Keep writing
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