This was the original comic:
And this is for my husband Bruce, who isn’t an “Andy,” but who provides all sorts of plugging/unplugging equipment to the local Andys and Bobs and Mikes and Lloyds…
…get used to the almighty Moy, kids!
Round 2 of Attempt 3 or 4 or who cares?!?!??
Wilbutt making up with Libby?!?? How absurd!
Wilbutt making up with Pierre?!?? Well, what do you expect?
Yes, everyone is getting a goodie…
Time to strap on the ol’ feed-bag:
It’s almost like they’re speeding toward their shared, early deaths. Don’t put it off, kids!
Sunday! Sunday! Bring your camera! We’re at the end of his turgid story!
…of a reasonable facsimile.
Reality really isn’t that bad.
Sooner or later, whether admitting it or not, we’re all in this together.
You do what you can.
Really mature.
Really, really mature…
Now Bets wants to spend all of Christmas with Gunth, instead of joining the hell that is part of all the rest of her family….
…so we should always listen to our elders:
Mondays always get Billy down…
What passes for entertainment/catechism at the Keane Kompound:
Nothing ever goes as planned.
The old habits return soon after Christmas….
When every new year looks just like the old years…
Well, the wish for an increased I.Q. for the new year didn’t materialize.
Fun at IKEA/Target/Wal-mart/anywhere Jeffy just has to pee…
…only Hell doesn’t seem that long.
Time flies when you’re meddling…
Yeah, like we were going to be rid of Wilbutt that easily…
But if you can’t be with the one you love, masturbate about someone else…
But then, it’s a small, sad world after all.
Words, logic, time all fail me.
Of course, dumb animals totally disregard something like this…
Then again, sometimes they don’t…
I haven’t been paying attention to Judge Parker. What would be really cool, though is Sam Drier doing his daily jog in his shorts and heavy jacket instead of tan, wrinkled trousers. Nearly as good as Abby’s hooters…
Time marches on. Neddy and Sophie are home for the summer, and whatever is going on , Sophie can more or less summarize.
…or “Wing Woman Day,” since it’s clear that Mary is clearly demented, living in her own little condo.
You think I’m joking, don’t you?
Well, I’m NOT!
Since everyone lives at Charterstone, Mary doesn’t need to haul out her broom…
Getting to know you…and you, too…
And who would’ve thought that 90% of the Sunday strip would be devoted to goldfish?!??
The insurmountable gravitational pull of Wilbutt and his goldfish has been accomplished. We’re ricocheted to Estelle’s condo…
And MAYBE we can get down to Brass Tacks…
There must be a point where Estelle tells Mary to get bent/lost/fucked/whatever…
SWEET BABY JEEBUS! Estelle ACTUALLY SAID, “I miss him.”!!! I keep trying, but I can only snark so much…
I don’t want to write for “Mary Worth.” I want an author to depict the series as being one with middle-aged/elderly people in the 21st C., not as a crappy fairy tale.
“Is this a lightbulb I see before me,
Filament toward my brain?”
Turn gay! Turn polygamist! Turn Hare Krisha! Just don’t take Wilbutt back!
Several readers hope that Dr. Ed makes a n appearance, further making Wilbutt wish he were dead. Well, you can always hope… (and thanks to 9CL, which finally has a use for its male anatomy, if nothing else):
Well, it seems that Estelle (or “Stell,” so she doesn’t have to remember both syllables in her name, is going to take the bastard back:
And today’s strip didn’t even merit a whole snark, just a panel (thanks to the curmudgeon who suggested the escape route):
Things aren’t so bad for Libby after all, after some folks fearing the worst for her (and Moy’s lack of clarity with the human…or English, language). Who the hell cares about Stell and Wilbutt anyway?
Mabe a workable solution can be…ah…worked out.
Or maybe the critters can work things out for themselves, and to hell with the humans…
Nah, I guess people need to be involved. At least one of them.
Believe it or don’r…Wilbutt sees the light!!!
And into every life (or Wilbutt’s life 24/7) a little rain must fall:
At least our boy is growing up.
