Comics by Michael Lowell Teague 2008-2009
Move aside! Sick baby coming through! Sick baby coming through!
Salt is an intriguing concept. I will grant you that. But you have a hard sell here. You will never convince me it exists. This “salt” you speak of is too—well—out there. You are a very good advocate for your case, however. You would do any debate team credit. Let us agree to disagree, shake hands, and part as friends. Indeed, I would regard it as an honor to call you my friend.
Three wrongs do not make a ladder. A rose by any other smell would still have a name. Never lift today what you can put off lifting tomorrow. A bird in the hand is probably not a bush. Probably.
There were trolls and rumors of trolls. And even talk of trolls handing out fake troll memberships to gullible people willing to pay ungodly sums of money to be trolls. Trolls not living under tables were standing eye-level to them, coughing on silverware and eating liberal amounts of sugar right out of the dispensers, completely unaware sugar offers only empty calories. It was that sort of thing.
Pirates terrify me. I can’t watch movies with pirates in them. I hope you are not asking me to watch a pirate movie or a movie where somebody has a pirate for a friend or owes a pirate money or anything like that. Why do you think I wear shoes to bed, Helen? It’s in case pirates break into the house in the middle of the night. You never asked and I never told. I guess we both walked into marriage like a dark room.
I’ve been prepped for brain surgery! For the love of God, won’t someone help me! I’m dragging a friggin’ IV bottle around behind me! What’s wrong with this picture, people! Help! Please Help!
Work closely with farmers. But not too closely. Don’t want to bunch up. Don’t want to get pulled under the tractor. Choose the finest beans and roast them. But not all at once. Maybe two or three at a time, a couple of hours apart. Play backgammon with Chet. Ambrosia’s got a great story about her year in the Peace Corps stonewashing jeans for poor villagers in Latin America. Indigo always has a smile in her pocket on rainy days.
I can’t wear a hat. My head’s shaped funny. Not ha-ha funny but arm-falling-asleep funny, which is not very funny at all. I can’t get a job because of it. Just about any job you think of requires a hat, so that’s why I can’t find a job. I’ve been drawing unemployment for seventeen years. There’s a special way you can fill out the paperwork where you can do that.
Men can’t have babies. That’s just messed up thinking right there. Waste of time thinking. You’re better off watching paint dry than entertaining fool notions like that. Show me a man with a bun in the oven and I will show you a world that just plain don’t exist. Having babies is in the women’s department. Wrong floor, buddy.
A good head of iceberg lettuce is crispy and not orange. A good head of iceberg lettuce will roll away if the table is not level. The part that’s not edible can go down the garbage disposal. You can do that, but I don’t recommend it. A half a head of iceberg lettuce is something wholesome to put in a kid’s box lunch. Not sure where the “iceberg” part came from. Lettuce was probably brought over a land bridge from Siberia, and someone dropped a head or two of lettuce along the way. Some Eskimo found them bobbing in the water. Didn’t know what the hell they were. Thought they came from icebergs. That’s my best guess.
No. I’m not the gecko from the commercials. (I’m always getting that.) I’m the gecko with the drinking problem—the gecko who can’t hold down a steady job or pay child support. I was once on an episode of America’s Most Wanted, though, but not in a good way.
Think of it as living inside a snow globe. A winter wonderland. Think of it as having really devoted friends. I’ve even drawn faces on some of the bigger ones.
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