So, Mal has decided that he, like you, wonders what the heck’s going on.
And has decided to ask. Politely.
Probably wise of him.
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Comic
2378 comics.
It takes a special kind of person to ask about the screaming while watching an old military elevator smash into its own housing over and over again… and then hurry onto the subject of the temperature of the coffee.
Gladys is a special person with her own ideas about the hierarchy of importance in the world. But then, so is Mr. Cranky. Apparently, so is the Cassowary, Shelly, Mr. Out-Front-Biker, and … well, everyone else. We’re all special.
A science enthusiast like, say, Shelly, would notice that as these chaotic panels continue that they knit themselves into parallel narratives.
Thus, the OutdoorFest, far from being chaos itself, is bringing order to a disordered system. Such a thing, physically speaking, generates heat, and adds to the overall chaos of the universal physics and will eventually lead to the heat-death of the universe and the end of all molecular movement. Party!
But in the smaller scale of the neighborhood in which Hubris works? The Chaos is being Ordered. Not in an even pattern or anything, but…
Well, we’ll all see, won’t we?
Things are hotting up all over the Fest now!
Oh, there’s just no way the five-legged race will be half as exciting as the general chaos going on around it, is there?
Clem’s sure to get some traction with this story.
Of course, he’ll have to change the names of everyone involved to protect, well, not the innocent, but protect him from having to go get people’s permission to put their names in a crazy story that no one would believe anyhow.
“Whooofph!”
“WH-PANNNNG!”
and
“Wump!” “Wait!”
It’s a cartoon, brought to you by the letter ‘W’.
What goes up must come down.
The cassowary is a flightless bird. It wasn’t going up, so something else had to.
Well, of course Mr. Cranky would be pleased to see his old friend Gladys! And like a true old gentleman, he knows that ladies don’t use ladders- it’s unseemly.
And of course, he didn’t MEAN for Bob to be standing on top of the lift when it sprung. It’s hard to remember where those things are buried when the kids have moved all the dirt around.
It’s fine though. All’s well that ends well, right?
Sorry for posting this late.
As usual, I was convinced I had it all set and ready to fire up at 01:11 this morning, but noooooooooo…
Poor ol’ Miz Cravettes. It took her forty five minutes to get that hair on, and twelve seconds to bounce it off, and two seconds to forget that it wasn’t on her head any more, and less time than that to forget that she was carrying it around.
If ya know someone like Miz Cravettes, do what you can for her soon, okay? Like Bob.
Bob’s a good kid. Probably had a completely lovely gramma somewhere along the line.
… a completely lovely gramma who makes fantastic cookies and taught Bob to be a good kid.
Cookies are an excellent positive reinforcement tool. Grammas know that.
