I guess I can see where Dusty wouldn’t want to extend the conversation about the cassowary any farther than it absolutely has to go.
And I can see where Durnell wouldn’t mind one way or the other if anyone sees this video and wants to talk to Dusty about injury complaints, animal abuse accusations, endangerment and public safety concerns…
Looking back, though… that poor minister who had the busload of kids sure came away from a stressful weekend with a lot of stories, didn’t he?
So now we know… you don’t have to have giant murder birds in your woods. You need mimics in your woods. Mocking birds, or escaped Parrots, or properly trained monkeys perhaps. And now, Raccoons who are friendly with giant murder birds and have rotten senses of humor. They probably make Bigfoot noises during those Bigfoot hunting TV shows, too. THAT is entirely enough to explain why they never find Bigfoot, right there.
When the man say, “Run”, you run.
When the man say, “Talk”, you run.
When the bird say, “Rawwk”, you run.
See why it pays to stay in shape?
I don’t think I’d trust the Cassowary to be intimidated by a net. Or a paintball gun. Or anything, really. Outraged and Baffled, maybe, but not intimidated.
It’s like in those movies where the alien, or the prehistoric shark, or the giant ape or whatever it is they’ve got is on the ‘other side’ of the thing meant to keep them safe. That’s just an overused signal that you’re supposed to feel anxious ’cause at least one of the people standing in the ‘safe’ area is about to get it in the neck when the Boogen breaks free. When you’re watching those movies, you’re thinking ‘Run!’ and NO ONE’S DOING IT.
I refuse. I will not subject you to that. I’ll take the Three Stooges Route, though. Everyone run. ‘Cause that *&^%s funny.
That’s the problem with releasing the Kraken. You’d better have your mind made up and you’d better be on a ship moving away from the one that you’re pretty sure the Kraken is going to ruin on your say-so.
Picture the chagrin on the face of the pirate king who calls down the Kraken (up the Kraken? Almost sounds right) upon his enemy’s ship… and realizes that his own ship, still alongside of and attached by ropes and poles to his victims’ ship, is about to share Davy Jones Locker and a Kraken’s digestive system with it.
Ew. That’s some bad chagrin, Captain Gomer. Now, quick, where’s that book with Kraken instructions? Is there a chapter or something on having changed your mind?
I don’t know what you pictured in your head when we got to the part about Mr. Cranky and Miz Cravettes, but… shame on you. Icky.
I have an issue with Flax.
When I was first doing The Buckets cartoons, I worked hard at trying to write ones that my mentor would approve and use. (writing was not my job, but this was an opportunity to learn and benefit, so…)
I wrote a few gags about adult cereals (as opposed to any cereals with colors, cartoon mascots, or flavor.) and sometimes populated backgrounds with the parents in the comic eating breakfast. When considering what to lampoon with my cereal boxes, I chose to think up a grain that was not cultivated primarily for human consumption, and the inedible parts of domestic grain. I made up ‘Flax & Chaff’ cereal. My mentor Scott found it amusing, and I stuck with it- proud to have invented a cereal that no self-respecting human would eat.
And then, of course, they started making cereal out of Flax. You can go buy it now. I wouldn’t. In fact, I WON’T, because it’s not food, and I thought of it first anyway.
Flax and Fruit, though. Whew. That’ll clear some pipes.
Raaaaawk. Rawk, RAWWWK!
Rawkahrawkarawk.
Kah!
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?
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