And so, Hubris Embarks on his way, solitary. Alone. By himself.
Except for the raccoons. Who knows why they do anything they do.
Weirdos, they are.
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Now Mal REALLY wants an army of Wildlife to do his bidding. Apparently, they’re like little Mission Impossible spies or something.
How long, do you think, it’ll take Mal to decide that he needs a team of wildlife to do his bidding so that he can be as successful as Lowell?
They’re right to be more worried about ticks.
Wukilars might get one or two of them, but ticks might get ’em ALL!
It’s something to consider when you’re worrying about what’s in the dark past the treeline.
See? That’s why we need to get the real world back to a place where we have crowds and festivals.
When you go participate in crowds and festivals and conventions and stuff- people see and hear you.
You get fans. Paste gets fans. Mal gets fans. Look there! Lowell appears to be surrounded by fan-like people.
Cool, right?
COVID-19, however, has no damned fans.
Well, here ya go. Dreams come true for everyone, right?
Riiiiiight.
Just advancing the story a bit, today.
Have I said where the three guys are from yet?
Yes, they’re a parody of aliens from an old Star Trek story, but they’re also… well, you’ll see.
Of course you know there’d be raccoons.
If you grew up reading MAD magazine, you have a sense of Nick Meglin, who edited MAD for a long time.
He died a couple of days ago, a week after I saw him last. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would graciously accept glowing words of praise. He was clever and sarcastic and sharp, and I’m dearly, deeply, genuinely grateful to have known him for the last twelve or so years, though I can’t imagine saying that to his face or what his hilarious, dismissive reply would have been.
The best way I’ve thought to express it is that, in the moments when we had his attention, he made us each feel we were kings, that we had such a fine court jester to mock us so perfectly.
And the world is diminished without him.
I gotta get me one of those hills.
