CHOMP MUNCH/ MUNCH GRIND: pure poetry
Mark Trail, 1/10/17
Hey, remember four and a half years ago when Rusty dozed off and had a vivid dream about dinosaurs? Well, now he’s out picking apples for his pancakes (don’t ask, man) and has suddenly encountered … a giraffe!? [record scratch noise] I’m assuming the whole apple-picking sequence was a dream to start with, or maybe he ate some “bad apples” (ha ha, get it, wait, no I mean it literally) and is hallucinating, but maybe … this giraffe escaped from the circus? Or from Africa? Maybe it’s an agent of Chris “Dirty” Dyer, recently resident in Africa himself, as part of the sport of hunting down Mark Trail? I imagine this majestic African herbivore would appreciate being the hunter rather than the hunted for once. Shoe’s on the other hoof now, H. sapiens!
The Perfesser’s extreme depression is of course legendary, but let’s not neglect the sad state of his nephew/ward’s emotional life. He should be at least a little gleeful at the prospect of subverting the banal expectations of his teachers, but he’s clearly crushed by the burden of coming up with yet another quippy answer to his test. “Is this … is this what they want?” he seems to be thinking, as he slouches down into his desk. “Is this all there is?”