Hello! Welcome to the first of two meaty, beaty, big and bleaty Hiatus weeks. Instead of just disappearing for a fortnight and hoping everyone will eventually gather in the latter part of July, I've decided to assemble in advance some peculiar content.

That's what I said yesterday. The new content started in the previous sentence, but you don't know that because it sounded the same and you skipped to the pictures. You didn't know that the text had varied, ever so subtly. Too bad! I was going to give you my bank account number and let you help yourself, if you'd lost your job.

Tim almost lost his job, and it was for a reason you cannot possibly imagine.

He watches a pay envelope fly away, and he's too angry to stop it. This tells you something about Tim. Angry, passive. The world should do things for him. He's owed things. He's Tim.

   
  Obviously Tim can hear them. He's looking at us: can you believe these yutzes? Talking about me like I'm not here. Check out old pointy-chin in the light suit; the buzzard's positively happy I'm having a bad patch.
   

We have to get home for Wifey to tell us what's the problem. Turns out Tim is having Butt Trouble.

There's a great unspoken story between the two panels, but we assume Tim dropped trou and let A Doctor peer at his difficulties. The doctor had seen it before, and knew that harsh tissue was a contributing cause. This is really nothing out of the ordinary, you think. Could be an ad from today, maybe.

And then . . . you read this.

Okay. Splinters.

Tim never noticed the splinters.

I know products weren't as refined back then, but: splinters. Someone in the head office signed off on selling toilet paper with splinters. Ahh, they'll get over it. In my day we used sandpaper wrapped around a stick.

The product has the desired effect:

"Tim, I've noticed a change in your mood. Almost as if you weren't driving dozens of small shards of wood into your rectum twice a day. Here's some more money."

 

After this ad I don't know why Waldorf didn't have 100% of the market.

SPLINTERS.

 

 

Daily Question, as we have in these hiatal times: Over or Under?

Make the case.

 

 

 
blog comments powered by Disqus