Comic 197 – “Labeling”
Errol: Debs doesn’t like this comic. Why? Because I was ‘labeling’ it. She didn’t want me labeling it. But… that’s the whole point of the comic.
And so I told her, “But that is what I would say!”
And she said, “And that’s what I would respond.”
So… ya. This comic is going up.
Refer to the person in question by a different name at least three times per day. You’ll have driven Errol crazy before a week passes.
It takes a lot to drive me crazy… Debs doesn’t have the chops. *LAUGH*
It’s too late, Phil. They’re already FB friends 😛
Well, driving Errol crazy doesn’t have to involve that sort of thing… You could always just create a new fan of the page, posting via a proxy in another part of the world and randomly support either him or yourself with this person- or maybe you’re doing that already?
That sounds really complicated, and I still don’t see how it makes me crazy.
Making me sit in children’s Christmas concerts for hours while recorders play? That will make me crazy.
Now we know his weakness- Okay Debs, you get the iron chains, padlocks and willing volunteers, and I’ll find the recorders and people to play them, one of whom will be me…
Did try learning the recorder years ago, but I never got too far with it, I can pretty much guarantee I’ll be discordant.
Ya, I can guarantee that too. Rotten recorders… 😀
I was in recorder club in 6th grade, but I have no clue what to do with mine now. I can almost guarantee that I will have forgotten everything that I learned over the span of 3 years of forced emptying of my diaphragm into the plastic, hollowed out and holey tube they called an instrument.
Find it, then strike it down and your journey to the dark side will be complete.
Hmmm, if your comics are so closely scrutinized, I wonder if I should even submit mine for the 200th comic or if it crosses a line. 😛
Crosses? It doesn’t merely cross.
It’s a triumphant huzzah of a sprinter as he wins the gold medal.
It’s the screaming engine noises at a Nascar race while buxom beauties frantically flutter finish flags.
It’s like saying, “Just one more turn”, at 4pm, then going well into the next morning.
No, good sir, you do not merely cross.