Comics by Michael Lowell Teague (Best of The Rest)
I can read. Do you want me to read to you? I can read this whole book by myself. I’ve read this book by myself a whole bunch of times. I think I should read you this book. This book is about a lost baby duck looking for his mother. He looks for her in a lot of places. A real lot. This is a book you should hear, and I can read this book to you right now.
Should never put your stepdaughter in a headlock. Tough love has its advantages. I’m not saying it doesn’t. But there should be limits. Putting your stepdaughter in a headlock is one of them. I knew a guy who put his stepdaughter in a headlock once, and she had pierced ears and all, and—dang—if he didn’t rip an earring out! I mean he ripped it right out of her earlobe with that headlock! Bled for hours! Went through a whole roll of Bounty towels!
I am programmed not to hurt people. Me standing over here is not hurting people. Me pounding holes in drywall looking for studs is not hurting people. Me removing all the left-footed shoes from the closet is not hurting people. What part of “not hurting people” do you not understand?
I am a snowflake. And I am unique. No two snowflakes are exactly alike, and I am unlike any other snowflake. Only God can make a snowflake, and He had to get up especially early in the morning to get a head start on me.
A child without feet cannot stomp out tyranny! That’s why we have to shelter the children and encourage feet growing! It’s about the future of democracy and a robust, self-sustaining shoe and sock industry in this country! That’s what this is all about! That’s why I’m yelling! Why I give a heck!
Who are your friends who wear coconut bras? Let me be presumptuous and count them on one hand: Me. I am your friend who wears coconut bras. I am the one who’s there to turn you over like a flapjack to keep your bed sores at bay. I’m the one who cleans the phlegm from your feeding tube. That would be me.
This is my trophy, even though it doesn’t have a name on it, it’s mine. I was given this trophy for being the best at what I do. The people who gave me this trophy are experts at what I do, and they deemed me the best at it. Even though it doesn’t say first place on it, it is for first place, because first place is what they give you if you are the best at what you do.
Brown Recluse spider bite is my best guess. Infection’s been spreadin’ like a grass fire for days. Hurts like hell. Maybe I should have someone look at it. Can’t sleep on my back. Can’t wear no shirt, neither. Need to work, but they won’t let me into the plant without a shirt. I can understand needing to wear safety goggles and a hardhat on the job, but a shirt? Need to work. Need to pay child support.
You cannot fit a pony into a Honda Civic. Not without difficulty. Not without doing harm to the pony. If you cut the top of the car off with those “Jaws of Life” things, the things they use in car wrecks, then maybe the pony could get inside standing up. May have to remove the backseat, though. Here, obviously, we’re defeating the object of trying to get a pony in a Honda Civic. I seriously doubt you could get a pony in a Honda Civic, personally. But I’ve been told I’m a pessimist. That’s a glass-is-half-empty kinda guy.
I need someone to comb my hair, mister. My arm only moves sideways. I need someone whose arm moves up and down to comb my hair. I need someone who has a comb, too. And someone to drive me over to the social security offices so I can talk to someone about disability. I’ve got an arm-moving-sideways disability.
I need a wife to cook for me. A wife who can cook Hamburger Helper with chicken. (I’m allergic to hamburger, but not chicken.) Very important people want to discuss things with me. I need a house, a table, some chairs to put around the table, and a wife who can cook Hamburger Helper with chicken. With these things, very important people will come to my house for dinner. That’s when very important things get discussed. That’s how you get on in the world.
If you can get to an International House of Pancakes, anywhere in the world, they have to give you safe haven. It works just like an American embassy. That’s how it works. It’s international, see. That’s the law. If you get into trouble overseas, run-don’t-walk to the nearest I-HOP.
Did you see that guy, man? He was checking out her cans, man. Totally scoping her cans. Unreal, man. Unreal. I’m telling ya...
I will rake the stars. They shall call me ‘The Raker of Stars’. If I can find a hooded coat, and some insulated gloves, I will go outside. If I can find an exterior door with hinges installed right, I will go outside. If Wheel of Fortune is not on, or Jeopardy, I will go outside. When darkness falls, look to the place of the raking, for there is where you will find me.
The George Foreman griddle is the only griddle you will ever need. I’m not going to tell you how easy it is to cook with, or how cleanup using it is a snap. I’m not even going to tell you how it makes a great gift. I’m only telling you that you need to throw all your other griddles away. Don’t give them away—no one in their right mind should be cooking on anything other than a George Foreman griddle. Take them to a foundry and have them melted down. Have them melted down to an ingot, one suitable for using as a doorstop, because that’s all other griddles are good for when you own a George Foreman griddle. I will even drive with you to the foundry. You have a car, don’t you?
Imagine your advertisement, here. Imagine all your dreams in one place, sorted like socks in a sock drawer and neatly folded in rows. Imagine the respect you deserve. Imagine stars close enough to blind, to enthrall, to burn away belly fat. Imagine the love of a good woman. A woman who can drive stick. Imagine me.
Nuttin’ I love batter dan wrasslin’ boys in my underware. Da first one da kin hogtie me kin kiss me, I reckon.
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