It was many and many a beer ago,
In a rathole by the sea’
That a cavalier lived, whom you may know,
By the name of Valiant, he.
And this noble he lived, with no other thought,
Than to love, and be loved, by we.
We used our guile and he had no guile,
In this rathole by the sea.
But we loved with a love that was double the love—
We and our Valiant, he.
With a love that the smart gerbil so clever
Could envy him and we.
And that was the reason that, long ago,
In this rathole by the sea.
A missile aimed at the drone, killing
The wonderful Valiant, he.
So that their guided missile came
To blow him away from we.
To make that hole a sepulcher.
In this rathole by the sea.
The missile, not half as speedy but heading
Went straight on to him and me.
Yes!—this was the reason (as readers know,
In this rathole by the sea.)
That the strike came out at the drone, all right,
Willing to killing our Valiant, he.
But our love it was better by far than the love
Of those who were higher than we—
Of bosses far bigger than we—
And neither the boss from Skin-Horse above,
Nor the troops dressed in green like a pea,
Can ever dismember our vole from his vole,
From the wonderful Valiant, he.
For the victims can’t scream without haunting our dreams
Of the wonderful Valiant, he.
And we feal traumatized, but we see the bright eyes
Of the wonderful Valiant, he.
And, so, in the night time, we turn dewy-eyed,
To our darling—our darling—our lifeforce unfried
In the gentrified hole by the sea.
In his home in the ground by the sea.
(Slow clap). Bravo, Mr. Nowall, bravo. Wherever Mr. Poe is, I’m certain he just spit out his drink before roaring in laughter at this tribute to his verse, and the Narboniverse.
Well, we were thinking “A. A. Milne” and “E. B. White,” children’s writers (or at least best known for). Artie was reading part of “Stuart Little” by E. B. White to his class when they caught up with him.
Is anyone else having trouble posting comments on old strips?
I have, for several weeks now, had issues commenting on anything more than a year or so old. My comment just disappears into the aether. I know it’s there somewhere, because I once tried to post the same comment again, and it told me I couldn’t post a duplicate – even though I couldn’t see the one I had already posted.
I never thought of Echo Bravo as wearing pajamas. Not that I thought he slept in the raw. I just never thought of it.
In the Narbonvese, *everyone* wears pajamas.
Sweetheart doesn’t.
E.B. is a good partner. He left A.À. reassured and smiling.
Aw, poor Echo.
Okay 🙂 now these panels make more sense.
Agreed. I was a bit confused the other day myself.
Yeah; Bravo’s got it bad.
His buck has been well and truly swashed.
Aw, Echo Bravo really does care.
It was many and many a beer ago,
In a rathole by the sea’
That a cavalier lived, whom you may know,
By the name of Valiant, he.
And this noble he lived, with no other thought,
Than to love, and be loved, by we.
We used our guile and he had no guile,
In this rathole by the sea.
But we loved with a love that was double the love—
We and our Valiant, he.
With a love that the smart gerbil so clever
Could envy him and we.
And that was the reason that, long ago,
In this rathole by the sea.
A missile aimed at the drone, killing
The wonderful Valiant, he.
So that their guided missile came
To blow him away from we.
To make that hole a sepulcher.
In this rathole by the sea.
The missile, not half as speedy but heading
Went straight on to him and me.
Yes!—this was the reason (as readers know,
In this rathole by the sea.)
That the strike came out at the drone, all right,
Willing to killing our Valiant, he.
But our love it was better by far than the love
Of those who were higher than we—
Of bosses far bigger than we—
And neither the boss from Skin-Horse above,
Nor the troops dressed in green like a pea,
Can ever dismember our vole from his vole,
From the wonderful Valiant, he.
For the victims can’t scream without haunting our dreams
Of the wonderful Valiant, he.
And we feal traumatized, but we see the bright eyes
Of the wonderful Valiant, he.
And, so, in the night time, we turn dewy-eyed,
To our darling—our darling—our lifeforce unfried
In the gentrified hole by the sea.
In his home in the ground by the sea.
—from “Annabel Lee,” Edgar Allan Poe.
(Slow clap). Bravo, Mr. Nowall, bravo. Wherever Mr. Poe is, I’m certain he just spit out his drink before roaring in laughter at this tribute to his verse, and the Narboniverse.
And now I am envisioning Edgar Allan Poe doing a spit take, and I am profoundly glad I didn’t myself have a mouthful of anything.
Name is “E.B.”…
Has an unaccountable fondness for talking rodents…
There’s already a Mr. Green…
Could there also be… a Mr. White?
Apologies if anyone else already floated this theory; it wasn’t until this strip that I noticed Anasigma Guy had a name.
Well, we were thinking “A. A. Milne” and “E. B. White,” children’s writers (or at least best known for). Artie was reading part of “Stuart Little” by E. B. White to his class when they caught up with him.
E.B. might be a code name, but he’s certainly “Mr. Bravo”.
That suggests Anasigma named him… which is chilling
Is anyone else having trouble posting comments on old strips?
I have, for several weeks now, had issues commenting on anything more than a year or so old. My comment just disappears into the aether. I know it’s there somewhere, because I once tried to post the same comment again, and it told me I couldn’t post a duplicate – even though I couldn’t see the one I had already posted.
I just successfully tested adding a comment to the bottom of E.B.’s visit to Mr. Green’s office in 2014 via the link above, awgiedawgie.
Come to think of it, I did have trouble with posting any comments earlier this week. Spinner never committed after tapping “Post Comment” button.
And I just tried posting a reply to your comment, and it disappeared.
I wonder if the ratsceller ever had Beetles playing in it?
Nah, the Cavern was where the Transgenic League stashed their miscreants. Place went downhill after 1963.
Wait, where did the tiny missle strike instead?
It homed in on the drone rat, which they moved outside so the ratceller folks would be safe.