…but then someone dredged this up, engendering a number of nightmares and bad memories from a number folks:
Bitch ‘n’ whinge all you want (yep, I was in the BnW group), but sometimes a mashup is so much more satisfying….
Better that is was the Ghost of Christmas Pastis, but mashing a FOOBlite is like getting coal in your stocking.
Come to think of it, mashing the old FOOB was like that, too!
News Flash! Ron All Men John is still a jerk!
Stay tuned for “I Am Such a Martyr!”
Wow, has the year flown by! It seems like it was only yesterday (or a quick check through the Archives) that we were celebrating at Chateau Morgan ( http://snarkitupfuzzball.nexiliscom.com/?p=1631 )! We’re still there, in fact!
Fortunately, the Morgans are the socially-climbing couple that doesn’t see the need to invite the comic strip riff-raff to their sexy sexy soirees, leaving them to indulge in ways that comic strip riff-raff is wont to do:
I have better things to do with my life (no! really!) than to play into Lynne Johnstone’s ego — she was a hack in the latter days of FOOB, and how she’s bamboozled herself into getting newspapers to run her reruns without being dead like her mentor Sparky is astonishing.
However, when she stands imperiously in front of her children, chiding them for looking for Christmas presents, one must take notice. Particularly when The Comics Curmudgeon himself, Josh, refers to her/it/whatever as MENACING PELVIS.
Much hilarity ensues, along with haiku, song mashups, whether or not Elly’s head has been drawn on backwards and speculations as to her personal hygiene. I’ll go along for the ride, since Dennis has made it so easy:
And since my buddy AeroSquid’s “Garfield Minus Garfield” mash-up from a few months ago suddenly makes sense (albeit this one is hardly menacing, being all dressed up for the holidays):
Another short foray into the realm of ReFOOB and I’ll remember my past just like I want to: my husband was a rat-bastard, I’m a virtual martyr, my children were filthy little animals, and, oh, my husband was a rat-bastard.
Yep, that just about covers it.
Finally! Out of the summer sun, the heady, fresh air, and away from that dreadful Charley Smith! At last Mary and Delilah can talk calmly and reasonably, like two adults, about the very same crap they’ve been hashing over for the last three weeks! O rapture!
I think if Mary’s going to have any influence on Delilah, she needs to treat the girl like one of Rex Morgan’s patients — do NOT let her wander off! Outdoors! Particularly by herself!
I know you love to worry and fret Mary, but there needs to be a little less theoretical hand-wringing and a little more hands-on grabbing and holding on tight and maybe some ropes involvement, too.
Oh, yeah, trust your own instincts, not some Canadian busy body — remember: Meddle in the U.S.A.!
Still, maybe this distraction on Mary’s part has a deeper meaning:
You know, sometimes a happy ending (well, the kind Mary Worth is angling for) just isn’t possible.
Well, it took eight months, but this FOOBlite begged to be mashed. Actually, Elly begged to be screamed at with even more spite and vitriol than toddler Elizabeth could get by with a big-ass screaming-Mimi “NO!”
Making fun of this tired attempt to “capture the magic” is too easy. Give it up, Lynn. Please. Go away.
This got weird. I just wanted to showcase Woeful Willy (or Woebegone Willy, or some other name that sounds like something out of a nursery rhyme or an Edward Gorey book), but the plot has been so slow, there really wasn’t much to work with. So here we have human trafficking, always a crowd-pleaser.
What’s killing me is any explanation why a blonde kid named Willy comes from Costa Rica…the bastard offspring of a horny rain forest researcher and one of the local ladies? You heard it here first.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaand...the plot thickens. Supposedly Willy’s dad lives in a city called Bos-ton. Right.
Meanwhile, June gets a little testy (yes, it’s a real word. And it’s not dirty, either.)
