Get Fuzzy by Darby Conley for October 30, 2011
Transcript:
Bucky: You've been writing all day. What's join' on? Satchel: I'm trying my paw at poetry. Bucky: Well, as the poet houseate, I'll have a lock at it. Satchel, this poem may very well be the greatest travesty in the history of this dining table. It mocks the very name of your pen, sir, for your writing is neither sharp nor will it be permanent. Further, you have selfishly denied an innocent sheet of paper its cosmic right to become something of a worth-a pizza menu or credit card offer.
Our poor, dear Satchel is obviously tormented by deficstential angst, and this is a plea for… a pooper-scooper?