Tom the Dancing Bug by Ruben Bolling for July 04, 2009
June 27, 2009
July 11, 2009
Transcript:
bob figures it out #147: how to escape from terrorists bide your time, waiting for the opportunity to strike. they can take all your weapons and devices, but not your wits and bodily functions. the sadistic, chain-smoking guard emil brings you your dinner. rancid beans in a plastic bag. the fool. he is already undone. the night is spent meticulously and carefully inflating the plastic bag. in the morning, emil returns with your daily cup of water, delivered with an insult. it will be his last. with lightning speed, throw your bag at his cigarette. the methane and hydrogen gases within explode, melting his face. foosh grab his pistol, and you are as good as escaped. emil: my face... and that's how bob figures it out. next on "bob figures it out": when the phillies should sacrifice bunt in the ninth inning of tied and one-run games.
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margueritem over 15 years ago
Good plan, Bob.
ejcapulet over 15 years ago
This must be a guy thing; my husband and my dad both come up with weird scenarios and how to get out of them.
RonBerg13 Premium Member over 15 years ago
That’s an easy one…
have the batter fart in the catcher’s face just before he bunts, especially on squeeze plays…
(Kinda goes with today’s strip, eh?)
Grover Premium Member over 15 years ago
Bob still needs a witty remark for when he explodes the bag, like, Goodbye face, mofo!
Donna Haag over 15 years ago
It’ like McGyver was taken hostage by someone other than Selma and her sister (can’t think of her name right now).
Donaldo Premium Member over 15 years ago
Hey, where’s Pshearer, using this cartoon to defend Guantanomo, when we need him?
Ushindi over 15 years ago
Oh, what heights of success I might have reached in this world if I had not succumbed to the insidious and brain-destroying evils of Tom the Dancing Bug and Red Meat. And our government is worried about heroin and LSD? God save our children from the horrors I have suffered at the hands of Ruben Boling and Max Cannon. And like any drug-crazed wretch, I cry “More! More! More!” (TOLD you these affected my brain)