Funky Winkerbean, 8/28/21
“Wait, you don’t have cancer? And here I thought you were coming on to me, you little tease!”
Judge Parker, 8/28/21
A Christmas Reunion
April watched her sigh dissolve in the icy air. The blur of life on the run, the breakup, all led her back here, to Cavelton. Her Dad needed her: the family business was on the rocks. Just one more job, he said, for Abby. Good money, done by Christmas, then Mallorca.
She crossed the square past the carolers, careful to stay within sightlines from the bank roof. In position on the Courthouse steps, right on time. Distract the mayor, five seconds tops, then run with the crowd.
The doors opened to reveal … Randy? But not the cringing loser she had abandoned: this man strode confidently, head high— like a Judge. Shocked and excited, she glanced up and purred, “Hey, you.” “April? Is it really you?” he replied, taking her hands just as the bullet from Norton’s rifle tore through his lung. “Bastard!” April thought, “Mallorca, my ass!”
Kneeling beside Randy on the now empty steps, she heard him whisper, “This … this is where we belong … together!” They embraced for the last time, as the Christmas music swelled and snow began to fall.
Mary Worth, 8/28/21
Where duels were illegal, duellists often settled their scores on boundary-river sandbars of uncertain jurisdiction. This is the precedent for Wilbur and Libby duking it out in the litter box.
Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/28/21
The Morgans return to their roots—getting free stuff, and deciding which free stuff they prefer to the other free stuff they get.
Oh, hi! I’m sitting in through Monday, September 6, while Josh visits friends and family back East. Reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org with any site or comment issues.
Be sure to alert me if you have trouble reading this in Josh’s new ultra-convenient newsletter format—I’m new to it, and different platforms/email clients treat html differently.
— Uncle Lumpy