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Mike Midgetski (into the mike): And our first call is Lesley's own sister! -- Zoë (into the mike): *Min?* Min (off panel; on the radio): Yeah, it's your sister and I want to let your audience know how heartless you are. Mom suffered a nearly /fatal/ disappointment attack when she found out about you and the tattoo and that you're not coming home for Christmas! -- Zoë (into the mike): Min, c-could you just tell her I'm sorry? Min (off panel; on the radio): Tell /*ME*/ you're sorry! It was just enough *not* to kill her! And you threw out all your phones so I have to listen to her all week as your surrogate! This is seriously the worst Christmas ever and that's saying a lot. -- (Min sitting by the window, crying, in front of a Christmas tree) Zoë (off panel; over the phone/radio): You know how Mom gets! /Dad/ understands. Min (crying; into the phone): He's the opposite of Mom. He doesn't want to talk to you. He doesn't want to hear your name. You /really/ screwed up this time, "Lesley." You're throwing everything away for this. Hope it's worth it. -- Zoë (on the edge of tears): ... -- (Zoë starts crying and holds her hand over the mike) Zoë (whispering): Jetski, I can't... Mike... help...? -- (Mike sits stumped for a second, chin on his fist) -- Mike: Min, I will pay you one hundred dollars to give Lesley Bean's Mom the studio number. | Flag | ||||
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Demon 2: Ribbit? Demon 3: Who is throwing us? (Multiple demons and frog-beasts flying through the air) -- Torg: Gwynn? Mike: Her name is *Lady Gwynn of the Book.* Do not disrupt her spells! -- Alt-Gwynn: The wards are broken on these carriages. The souls of the dead are free. Mike: Come help me get this lock open to free the living! -- (Mike attempts to open the lock; Torg assists with Chaz) <PRY> -- Torg: Gwynn, we need to talk! Alt-Gwynn: Mike, bring the injured to me; I can heal them with my magic. -- Mike: Hello! Anyone in there? -- (A circular maw filled with many teeth is visible coming out of the shadows of the doorway) Mike: **NOOOOO!** -- <**GLITCH!**> (Torg, Chaz, and Alt-Gwynn are spattered with much red blood) -- Alt-Gwynn: Mike may be beyond even /my/ help! (Alt-Zoë and Alt-Bun-Bun pass out) <**faint!**> <*faint.*> Chaz (awakened by Mike's blood): Good evening, Master! Whom shall we kill tonight? Or shall I just pry things open? Maybe slice some lunchmeat later? | Flag | ||||
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-- Mike (thinking): Suddenly the quick turnover of employees, and all those coworkers not returning from extended vacations make sense. -- Mike (thinking, as we pull back to see his table on a frying pan over a fire): Out of the frying pan and into the fire. -- Mike (looking down, as Aylee moves in from behind): **Hey, wait a minute!** -- Mike: ***Wait! Wait!! NOOOOOOO!!!*** (last panel shows red (blood) and a security camera pointing towards Mike and Clone Aylee) | Flag | ||||
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Santa: What was that? -- Kiki: *shiny shiny shiny!* Santa: /*Ack!*/ -- Kiki (as her sugar-fueled hyperactive excitement spills presents out of Santa's sleigh): *shiny shiny shiny!* Santa: *No! Stop! /Don't!/* -- Mike Midgetski: I'm sorry about your mom, Zoë, but you were floundering and it saved the bit! Zoë: It was a great save Mike. We /*may*/ be in trouble if the F.C.C. has any Korean translators. -- Mike: Families are tough sometimes, but they're there when you need them. Zoë: I don't need them. -- Mike: See you tomorrow! Merry Christmas, "Lesley Bean!" Zoë: *Don't* Mike. -- Zoë: I doubt anybody on the planet is having a /*less*/ merry Christmas than me. -- Santa (into his cell phone): */Squeeky!/ We need elves* out here! *All* of them! /*Code Red!*/ Squeekybobo (off panel; over the phone): What's wrong, Santa? -- Santa (into his cell phone; gesturing towards the mess of gifts strewn all over the highway): We've got every gift for every girl and boy *strewn all over the highway!* Squeekybobo (off panel; over the phone): Oh no of all oh noes! /How/ Santa? /*How?*/ Santa (into his cell phone): A tiny blue creature popped out of my gift bag and tossed them!! -- Squeekybobo (off panel; over the phone): Santa, did you just deliver to the Yount family's house? Santa (into his cell phone): Yeah the one with the double loaded Rum-Balls. *I am not drunk on cookies! There /was/ a little blue creature!* Now get your pointy-eared butt out here before some carolers think we're having a *give-away!* -- Zoë (walking into their apartment): Torg? -- Zoë (leaving the lights out and opening the refrigerator): No of course you wouldn't be home; you're having a good time with your friends. -- Zoë (sitting on the couch cross-legged in the dark chowing down on left-over Chinese food): I don't need them. I don't need anybody. -- (Zoë draws her knees up to her chest and leans on them, staring despairingly into the dark) -- (Zoë lies back on the couch and holds a pillow over her face) -- Torg (walking into the apartment): Zoë? Are you home? -- Zoë (sitting up; still in the dark): *Torg!* I... I didn't think you'd be here! You weren't here when I got home! -- <CLICK> Torg (turning on the Christmas lights around the window, above the couch): I had to walk from the old house. I think Kiki stole my car keys again. Here! For you! -- Zoë: /*A Playstayshun 3?!?*/ Torg: There were expensive gifts all over the highway, just lying there. SuuWii's, and PSS3's, Super Foam-Forts and Tickle-Me-Rumsfelds, you name it! -- Torg: And a whole crowd grabbing them up in a gift-giving feeding frenzy! *A real Christmas miracle.* -- Torg: Zoë, are you OK? Zoë: Yeah, I'm just happy. Torg: I didn't even think you liked consoles that much. -- Zoë (putting her arms around Torg; and touching heads): *Merry Christmas, Torg.* Torg: Yeah, Merry Christmas Zoë. | Flag | ||||
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Mike (audio from camera): ***NOOOOOOO!*** -- Mike (audio from camera): ***NOOO! ARGH!*** Gwynn: /*That's Mike! Aylee is devouring Mike!*/ -- Aylee: Mr. Killum, Aylee here. Why is a security camera in my office turned on? -- (Gwynn stands frozen staring at the camera) Aylee (off panel; over the intercom): Mr. Killum? Killum (off panel; just about to come through door): ... Last time, I don't have *time* for you, Chen! Take it up with *Kirko.* Chen (off panel; with Killum): *But Killum, I...* -- (Gwynn turns around startled as the door opens to show Killum and Chen) Aylee (off panel; over the intercom): /*Mr. Killum!*/ -- (Gwynn pushes through the two men and runs for it while they stare after her) -- Aylee (off panel; over the intercom): /MR. KILLUM! ANSWER ME AT ONCE!/ Killum: Aylee, we may have a situation. | Flag | ||||
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-- Employee #1: Well we /are/ one of the biggest companies out there. Mike: Yeah but we have more in accounting than you guys have in web design. Gwynn: I think our boss Aylee can have as much security as she can afford. -- Mike: And what's up with this mysterious "Aylee" who no one sees in person? Cooler-bot: Your water allotment is complete. Return to your cubicles immediately. -- Mike: And the cooler-bots are definitely overkill. Employee #2 (mussed-up): The coffee-bot is darn right mean. Coffee-bot (off panel): Your production is down. No more coffee for you! | Flag | ||||
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-- Mike (thinking): Why would they need this company artificially inflated? -- Killum (off panel; over speaker): Michael? This is Mr. Killum. Aylee wants to see you in her office for lunch. Mike (thinking): Oh, this /*can't*/ be good. -- Killum: This is a private meeting, so per your employee contract, you cannot discuss this with coworkers, friends, family, and next of kin. Mike (off panel; fleeing; thinking): **Feets don't fail me now!** | Flag | ||||
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Zoë (into the phone): You know, Midgetski, you make it sound like I'm /up/ to something. Can't I just relax with my friends? -- Mike (off panel; over the phone): Our radio ratings are in the toilet, Zoë! If we don't get some material we're going to get downsized! Zoë (into the phone): It'll look good on you, Mike. I'll email cell-pics from orbit. Mike (off panel; over the phone): What? /*Orbit?!?*/ Zoë (into the phone): Gotta go. -- Zoë (thinking): I'm about to go into orbit in a jet-fuel filled balloon, and my cellphone has never looked more sharp and able to "pop" something. Torg: *Gwynn! Aylee!* Have we got news for /*you!*/ -- Torg: Aylee what's wrong? -- Aylee (sitting on a chair, holding a letter): Torg... I don't know how to handle this! -- Gwynn (obsequiously): Hi Torg! You're looking nice today! New clothes? Torg: What is it? Aylee: The federal government just unfroze our old bank accounts! -- Torg: The "earnings" we got as a side-effect when Hereti-Corp co-opted our web design business as a super-successful shell company? That was almost /a million dollars,/ Aylee! Aylee: According to Gwynn that means we both have "a fortune!" -- Gwynn: I just meant you're /fortunate/ to have such good friends! Torg: /*DON'T NOBODY TELL BUN-BUN!!!*/ === NOTE: Ref: The _frozen accounts_ <http://www.sluggy.com/daily.php?date=020819>. | Flag | ||||
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=== (Panel showing building with "AyleeOrg") -- (A car drives up to the security booth; presumably driven by Gwynn) -- (A figure walks across the foyer of AyleeOrg admist other people and security guards) -- (Gwynn swipes a card and gets the message "Access Denied, Barbra Streisand!") <**SWIPE**> -- (Gwynn angrily continues to swipe and gets "Now just back off, Barbra Streisand!") <***SWIPE!***> <**SWIPE!**> <**SWIPE!**> Gwynn: /*Oh come on!*/ This is the third replacement card! This has gotta work! -- Gwynn: This is /so/ a Monday. Mike: Access card still busted, Gwynn? Allow me! <**SWIPE**> Gwynn: Thanks, Mike. -- <**VSHT(*)**> (The door opens) "Welcome to AlyeeOrgNet.Com, Tobey Maguire and guest! Mike: I think the idiots in security swapped the employee database with the internet movie database again. | Flag | ||||
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Mike: Zoë, your mom is driving our call screeners nuts, she won't stop calling! And our ratings are down! Management is referring to our show as "dried up!" Zoë: One slow quarter won't sink us, Mike. I'll get us new material, don't you worry. -- </Resume Gwynn therapist session> Gwynn: Everyone becomes selfish and heartless around me. Zoë just took longer than anyone. It would only take her one apology to repair our friendship but she's way too proud. Her and her stupid radio show. Well she won't be mooching material off of me anymore. </Pause Gwynn therapy session> -- Zoë: So Torg, how's everything going over at the mansion? Any wacky antics going on lately? Torg: I told you, Zoë. They don't want you talking about them on air, so stop asking me. You're driving Gwynn so crazy she's seeing a psychiatrist! -- Zoë (rapidly scribbling in her notebook): *Gwynn's seeing a /psychiatrist?/* Torg: We *all* are! I got a coupon! | Flag | ||||
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Comic Title: Sluggy Freelance Alternate Reality Week -- Caption: Torg of the Dance -- Torg (running away from a giant doughnut): I chose *POORLY!* (A Simpsons reference) -- Torg: I was just trying to give mummy a five-year anniversary gift! How did I know it was cursed? Camel Mummy: GRRROOOOOWWWWW ***SNORT*** -- Voice (off panel): /B-6!/ Bert: /*You sank my crotch!*/ Bert's Costume: U.S.S. Bert -- Zoë: Whad'ya think? Should we try it? Gwynn: Hey, why not? Sign: Now entering nudist beach! -- Dr. Schlock: The Schlock Inflatable Time Machine! I liked it so much I travelled [sic: should be "traveled"] back in time and started the company! -- AyleeOrgNet.com Access control system: Access Denied. It's your lucky day Mike: Well, my access card won't work either. How about I take you to lunch while they fix it? -- Torg: /I AM JUDAH BEN-TORG!!/ -- Shirt-Guy Tom (into the phone): Hey, Pete, how about Mike and I draw a Sluggy 'Alternate Reality' week? Pete (off panel; over the phone): No, that would be dumb. Better stay with stick figures. Caption: Mike (Arrow pointing to stick-figure Mike) === NOTE: This week by the great _Mike Scandizzo_ <http://www.inertsoap.com/>! | Flag | ||||
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Aylee (narrating): You remember how Zoë does a talk radio show with Mike "Jetski" Midgetski? Since Zoë stopped talking about us on the air they've been fighting to come up with interesting topics for the show. (Aylee is reading a book, "How to hunt Veggies" and listening to the radio) Zoë: So how about the presidential election? Mike: /*Bor*/ing nothing new happening there! -- Aylee (narrating): That's why Zoë came in Friday night more scared than I've ever seen her. Zoë: *The wig slipped!* Aylee: What? -- Zoë: On the way out the door of the building, it caught on my purse! I think Mike saw my wig slip! He's going to out "the bald me" on the air on Monday if he spotted that! -- Zoë: He'll humiliate me on the air just because it's good radio! Gwynn: /mmmm-hmmmm./ -- Zoë: You /*like*/ that this is happening to me, Gwynn? /Payback/ since I talked about *you* on the air? (*)I(*) thought we were past that... -- Zoë: ...Since you're the reason I'm bald and my hair won't grow back and *I decided to keep our friendship instead of */running your face through a *food processor!/*** Aylee: /Guys!/ Please don't fight! And processed-human-face is not as tasty as you might /think!/ -- Aylee: Well, it /was/ tasty, but it's a /texture/ thing. Gwynn: Zoë, I don't /know/ exactly what spell I cast on you so I'm not entirely sure how to counter it! -- Zoë: I've given you months to fix this, Gwynn! *You're going to fix my hair and you're going to do it by Monday!* </Pause flashback> === NOTE: _Bald Zoë and Short-Haired-Gwynn | ref!_ <https://archives.sluggy.com/daily.php?date=071109> | Flag | ||||
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-- Torg: What do you want for Christmas, Bun-Bun? Alfalfa? A chew toy? Bun-Bun (scratching himself): Santa's head on a platter. <skritch> <skritch> <skritch> -- Stephen Hawking (narrating): Some theorists speculate that the least probable of these new universes - also known as 'fractal worlds' - may quickly disintegrate due to their own lack of cohesion... (stick figure images of Torg, Riff, Torg-Donkey; small stick figure, may be Torg; Princess Leia (Star Wars reference)) -- Caption: Fractal World #94 Torg: What do you want for Christmas, Garfield? Alfalfa? A chew toy? Garfield: Lasagna. Oh, and Jon's head on a platter. Riff: That's it. He's going back to the store. -- Caption: Fractal World #212 Torg: What do you want for Christmas, Mooch? Alfalfa? A chew toy? Mooch (eying Zoë): **YESH!** -- Caption: Fractal World #1024 Torg: What do you want for Christmas, Little Deckard Cain? Alfalfa? A chew toy? Deckard Cain: The Horadrim once spoke of such a chew toy, but it has long been lost! If you could reassemble one, it might aid us greatly! -- Caption: Fractal World #834 Torg (staring down at a mossy rock with a chicken leg next to it): What do you want for Christmas, mossy rock? Alfalfa? A chew toy? Riff: Mossy rock doesn't seem to be eating. === Comic Footer: Modifications by Tom Ricket & Mike Scandizzo === NOTE: This week by the great _Mike Scandizzo_ <http://www.inertsoap.com/>! | Flag | ||||
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Schlock (thinking): Nothing wrong with seeing if Gwynn needs a wardrobe opinion, is there? -- (Schlock looks in the door and his hat flies off in shock) -- (Gwynn is looking at herself in a dirndl and stockings outfit; Schlock is peeking in through her door) Gwynn: Well it /is/ a little offensive. I wonder if I can keep this one when the week is done. -- Schlock (thinking): Stop gawking before you turn into the dirty old man she thinks you are. Just walk away... <*SLIP*> Schlock: *WHOAH!* -- (Schlock falls into Gwynn's room) <*BURST!*> Schlock: **whoa-oa-oa!** -- (He falls at Gwynn's feet, ripping her skirt down as he does so) <**Riiiiip**> <**WHUMP**> -- (At "Angel McDevil's Bar and Grill") Gwynn-angel: It was horrible! She kicked that poor little old man in the privates so hard his entire body took the form of an up-ended "U". Riff-angel and Riff-devil: been there. Torg-angel: That's worse than Torg telling Zoë he's moving out! Gwynn-devil: Aw, old shrivel-face is cute! And /*dressing*/ like a bar wench is better than /*being*/ you know who! -- Zoë-devil (kicking the door to the kitchen): **OUT OF THE WAY, ORDERS COMING THROUGH!** -- Zoë-angel (mouth full): umph... *Anudddeer chessteak ples!* Zoë-devil: Finish the one I *gave* you, Tubby! -- Torg-devil: WHERE'S MY *CHOCOLATE MALTED MILK? *CHOCOLATE MALTED MILK!** Zoë-devil: Ugh! I forgot! Gimmie a sec. -- Zoë-angel (as Torg-devil glares at her): Life is good! -- Zoë-angel: ***BArrrRp.*** -- Torg-devil: I say, do I detect a hint of fennel? Zoë-angel: I recommend the sausage pasta combo. -- Zoë-devil: I'm *sick* of this work! Isn't it enough that we all spend our days paired with someone who's compelled to *always* disagree with us? -- Riff-devil and Riff-angel: /*Zoë's working her eeeeevil!*/ Torg-devil and Torg-angel: /*Oh yeah!*/ Gwynn-devil and Gwynn-angel (both annoyed): *Men!* -- Zoë-devil (slamming down the dishes and food): You know what? *I /QUIT!!!/* <***SLAM!***> -- Mike Midgetski (off panel; over the phone): Calling in sick Zoë? You don't /sound/ sick. Zoë (into the phone): I don't know if I can do the radio show anymore, Mike. === Note: _*Here's* a quick first-appearance link for "Angel McDevil's Bar and Grill."_ <http://www.sluggy.com/daily.php?date=001119> | Flag | ||||
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Riff: Torg, it's almost midnight on Halloween! They'll be crossing into our dimension to come for you soon! Torg: Got it covered! -- Zoë (in a cat costume): Are you sure? Remember what happened last year! Torg: Don't worry! This year I made sure I'm prepared -- Everything's set this time! -<**poof**>- -<**poof**>- (Crowd of bikini suicide frisbee girls, including one on each side of Torg) Bikini Suicide Frisbee Girls: TORGY! WE'RE HERE! | hi torgy! Torg: remind me again why i let you guys pull me out of the dimension of bikini-suicide frisbee chicks? <**poof**> === Comic Footer: Modifications by Tom Ricket & Mike Scandizzo === NOTE: This week by the great _Mike Scandizzo_ <http://www.inertsoap.com/>! | Flag | ||||
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Mike: Set the stage for me, Lesley Bean! Zoë (as Lesley Bean): Gwen stands there, disgusted, with a mop and bucket when Rick walks in. Rick starts yelling because her pet monkeys flung poo at him. -- Zoë (as Leslie Bean): And Gwen shouts over him *"You flung poo back!!!"* -- Zoë: And Rick yells even louder... -- (Torg leaning back in his car seat, laughing, while Riff leans forward, snarling) Zoë (as Leslie Bean; off panel; over the radio): ***WHEN IN ROME!!!*** Torg: /*"...when in Rome!"*/ Heh, oh I thought you had to be there but the way she tells it... -- Torg: Hey, sorry man. Don't fling anything at me! | Flag | ||||
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-- Kusari-Sasha: Torg? What the. Torg (realizing that Sasha is (a) alive, and (b) Kusari): Sasha? /*What the?!?*/ -- Oasis (still blindfolded and bound): /*Torg?* What the...?/ -- Torg (as Kusari-Sasha hits him across the jaw): /*Fist what the!*/ <***POW!***> -- Roberts (heading away from Dr. Irving Schlock): "Schlock? What the?" Sorry, couldn't resist. I'm off to my room then? Schlock (in his space station): Roberts, /stay!/ -- Schlock: Kusari! Secure the watch and this phone! I don't want them burning up with poor Marcus. And we need to give Oasis more orders. -- Oasis (struggling again): /No!/ *No orders!* I *hate* that watch! I *hate* what you make me do! /Did you just hurt my Torgy?/ Dr. Schlock (over Kusari-Sasha's cell phone): Swiftly, Kusari! -- Kusari-Sasha (over her cell phone): Irving, I've positioned the phone and watch close to each other. Schlock: Roberts, tell that watch exactly what I'm telling you. "Oasis stop." -- Roberts (over Kusari-Sasha's cell phone): Oasis stop! (Oasis ceases struggling against her binds) -- Kusari-Sasha: I underestimated the amount of force it'd take to knock out Torg. Torg (coming to; his hand still on Chaz): *ugh.... ok bun-bun you can have cookie... WHERE...?* -- Oasis (struggling again): *Don't hurt Torg!!! I'm warning you for the last time!* Roberts (over Kusari-Sasha's cell phone and the watch): Oasis, forget about Torg. -- (Oasis ceases to struggle; her face, underneath the blindfold looks astonished) === NOTE: I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge something that's been mentioned before in Sluggy lore but many of you may not know. The character of Marcus Chen is homage to Mike Chen, one of my favorite teachers from my days at the Kubert School. A great teacher and a great guy, in my experience Mike was only maniacally evil when it came to our GPAs. And Marcus was one of my favorite villains to write for, I'm sorry to see him go after all these years. But it is what the story has demanded. | Flag | ||||
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- Mrs. Claus (into the phone): More than that! Bun-Bun's currently the embodiment of Easter and Groundhog's Day. Be careful, Halloween King. --- Mrs. Claus (over the internet): Squishy-dodo, we all need your help. Bun-Bun's up to something. I need constant surveillance on his whereabouts up to at least Halloween. - Squishy-dodo (over the internet): You want me to spy on Bun-Bun? *Are you nuts?* --- Squishydodo (into the phone): Grahmmy [sic: should be "Grahammy"], I know you're new here, but I have a very important mission for you to take the blame for. - Grahammy (into the phone): "Take the blame for?" You mean it's my fault if I fail? - Squishydodo (into the phone): *And* if you succeed. --- Grahammy (into the phone): Bun-Bun? Squishydodo wants me to lead a team keeping an eye on you until Halloween. What should I say? - Bun-bun (into the phone): Clam up, Grahmmy [sic: should be "Grahammy"]. Just keep your ears open. That's why I put you there. --- Bun-Bun (into the phone): Shadow? Squishydodo's got no reason to keep an eye on me unless Mrs. Claus got her claws in him. That means I can't trust him anymore. Groundhog's Shadow (into a shadow phone): You think Mrs. Claus knows? Bun-bun (into the phone): If she *knew,* she'd be more hands-on. It is best for us to keep her in the dark until it's too late. --- Groundhog's Shadow (into a shadow phone): Dr. Lorna? Why would Bun-Bun call me on the phone when I'm right here, attached to him? - Dr Lorna (into the radio mike): Maybe it's to keep the milieu consistent, but unless you're emotionally scarred by it, /*get off my phone!*/ | Flag | ||||
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Midgetski: Shhh! I'm about to call my partner Broadman on something very important. Doctor: He insisted on a speakerphone instead of using his other ear. Don't ask. -- Caption: Half an hour later: <**RING!**> Mr. Chalmers (over his shoulder): I'm sorry I have to take this call Zoë. <**RING!**> -- Mr. Chalmers: *Carlos!* Good to hear from you. -- Mr. Chalmers: You overheard Broadman saying he was going to make an entrance I'd never forget, eh? | No-no. He's fighting for his job. I'd like to see how this plays out. -- Caption: Three minutes later: (Mr. Chalmers has a pie on his face, and is coming to...) Mr. Chalmers: Ow! My head! What the hell is going on here? Why do I taste ferret? | *Why do I know what ferret tastes like?!? | /SECURITY!!!/* -- (He stumbles over to the rail at the edge of the landing) -- (He stares down over the railing) Mr. Chalmers: (*)gasp!(*) -- (Broadman is cavorting among wreckage and cows) Broadman: *YOU'RE SO OWNED! WHO OWNZ YOU? /WHO OWNZ YOU COWS?/* -- Broadman: *BROADMAN DOES! YOU'RE BROADMAN'S COWS! */OH YEAH!/** -- Chalmers (as the "pie-eating-contest-winning-cow" leans in to go for the pie on Chalmers's face): /*BROADMAN!*/ Broadman: Mr. Chalmers? -- Chalmers: These are *your* cows? Broadman: *I can explain!* -- (The cow chomps on Chalmers' face) Sound Effects with teeth: ***CHOMP*** Chalmers: *YEARGH! A COW IS EATING MY FACE OFF!* -- Caption: Five minutes later: Chauffeur (driving Zoë; hands her back a phone): Mr. Chalmers calling for you, Ms. Bean. -- Zoë (aka Leslie Bean; into the phone): Hello, Mr. Chalmers. Chalmers (off panel; over the phone): Zoë, I've reconsidered. You're in; Broadman's out. Starting first thing Monday. <*CLICK.*> (The tail from Gwynn's third monkey drops into sight by the open car window next to Zoë) -- (A pie flies through the window and hits Zoë in the face) <**SPLAT**> -- Monkey #3: *Pbpbpbpbt.* (Zoë sits for a moment, stunned) -- Zoë: ****HA-HA-HA! YES!**** (The monkey sits down next to her in the car and reads GQ magazine upside down) | Flag | ||||
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=== Monkey-Dr-Schlock (with Florence flasks in hand): *Eee Eee Aaii Aaii* ***Aaiiiiii!*** -- Monkey-Sam (with a quarter moon in the background): **Ooo Ahh AHHHH!** -- (Dr. Schlock and Sam watch the monkey drawing) Dr. Irving Schlock: I don't think I like the primitive direction this artist is taking. Sam: Now he's got us biting the furniture. Hurry back, Pete. Caption: Editor's note: Yes, Pete is still sick. Today's comic courtesy of Mike Scandizzo. | Flag |
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