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PEARLS FAN MAIL…
JOEY R, FROM DURHAM, N.C., WRITES, “BILL WATTERSON, CREATOR OF ‘CALVIN AND HOBBES,’ COMPLAINED THAT COMICS WERE PRINTED TOO SMALL… WHAT SAY YOU?”
WELL, JOEY, UNLIKE ‘CALVIN AND HOBBES,’ WE HERE AT ‘PEARLS’ ARE DRAWN BY AN INCOMPETENT ARTIST.
THEREFORE, WE’RE ACTUALLY IN FAVOR OF SMALLER STRIPS, AS THE TINIER YOU PRINT US, THE LESS YOU CAN TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN US AND A WELL-DRAWN STRIP.
SEE?

Louis P., from San Marino, CA., writes, "HAS IT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU THAT PIG LOOKS NOTHING LIKE A REAL PIG?"
YES, LOUIS, WE KNOW...PIG'S CUTE APPEARANCE IS THE RESULT OF TWO HOURS OF CARTOON PIG-MAKE-UP BEING APPLIED EVERY MORNING. THIS MAKE-UP TRANSFORMS HIM FROM AN ACTUAL, REAL-LIFE PIG TO THE CUDDLY CHARACTER YOU KNOW AND LOVE.
...MORNING, RAT...
MORNING, BUDDY.

HELLO, READERS... WE HERE AT "PEARLS" HAVE DECIDED TO ANSWER SOME OF THE MANY FAN LETTERS WE GET EVERY DAY HERE AT P.B.S., INC.
BUT BEFORE WE GET STARTED, I'D LIKE TO ADDRESS THOSE READERS WHO WILL SAY WE ARE RIPPING THIS GAG OFF FROM "DOONESBURY"
YOU'RE RIGHT.
WHO ARE YOU?

EVERY TIME I LIE DOWN TO
GO TO SLEEP, I'M OVERWHELMED
BY WORRIES.

IT'S AS IF THERE ARE THESE WORRY
MOLECULES IN MY TOES JUST WAIT-
ING FOR ME TO GO HORIZONTAL, SO
THEY CAN BE FREED OF GRAVITY'S
WEIGHT AND DRIFT EFFORTLESSLY
TOWARD MY DEFENSELESS BRAIN.

WOW...I
DIDN'T KNOW
THAT'S WHAT
WAS HAPPENING.

I SAID, 'AS IF.'
I DIDN'T
MEAN IT
LITERALLY.

OH...
GEEEZ, DUDE...ARE
YOU TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS
TO THE DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN LITERAL AND
FIGURATIVE SPEECH?

NO NO NO...
OF COURSE NOT...I'M
JUST MAKING
CONVERSATION...

YEP
YEP
YEP.

GOOD.

GOOD.

GOOD.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

WELL, HELLO, PIG... I DIDN'T KNOW YOU ATE AT THIS RESTAURANT... IT'S NICE TO SEE YOU.
HI, FATHER BILL... THIS IS MY DATE POLLY.
NUDE GIRLS ARE WAITING FOR YOU NOW
... SO WHAT'S NEW?

SO PIG'S ON A DATE WITH A GIRL WHOSE FACE INTERMITTENTLY BECOMES AN INTERNET POP-UP AD?
YEAH... THEY WENT TO DINNER.
BUT ISN'T HE EMBARRASSED TO BE SEEN WITH HER?
WHAT'S THERE TO BE EMBARRASSED ABOUT?
CHECK, PLEASE.
IS VIAGRA FOR YOU?

PIG'S DATING SOMEONE WHO WORKS FOR AN INTERNET SERVICE PROVIDER.
DOES HE LIKE HER?
YEAH, BUT HE SAYS THERE ARE A FEW PROBLEMS.
LIKE WHAT?
...ANOTHER POP-UP AD??

...MOST OF THE INTELLI-
GENT SPECIES EGG THE
MONKEYS. GEE, I WOULD
NEVER EGG A MONKEY.
THAT'S "e.g.,
THE MONKEYS."
IT MEANS,
"FOR EXAMPLE."
FOR EXAMPLE,
YOU SHOULD
EGG THE
MONKEYS?
IT'S JUST
"FOR
EXAMPLE."
I STILL WOULDN'T DO IT.

BEHOLD, GENTLE-MEN, THE GLORIOUS FACE OF GOD.
I DUNNO, FLOYD. IT FRIGHTENS ME.
DO NOT BLASPHEME, THEODORE. YOU ARE IN THE AWESOME PRESENCE OF THE ALMIGHTY. LET US EMBRACE THE WARM, BRIGHT LIGHT...HIS LOVE WILL PROTECT US.
BUZZZZT
BUZZZZT
BUZZZZT
THAT BUG ZAPPER'S A GODSEND.

WOULD YOU CARE FOR A COMPLIMENTARY DRINK?
OH, YOU BET...I'M TIRED OF BEING INSULTED ALL THE TIME.
WHAT'S THAT GOT TO DO WITH ANYTHING?
I COULD REALLY USE A COMPLIMENT, EVEN IF IT'S ONLY FROM A DRINK.
YOU'RE AN IDIOT.
SEE WHAT I MEAN?

Dear Mr. Rat,
I am in receipt of the next
three chapters of your saga
Of Angry Bob, which you
submitted to us for possible
publication.
Please be advised that we here
at the New Yorker have plumbed the
lifeless prose of hacks such as
John Updike, Joan Didion and
Norman Mailer.
Why just this morning we thought
to ourselves, "What we really need
is something written by someone
with a third-grade education
discussing the merits of
tossing their own excrement
at zoo animals."
Imagine our surprise
when we opened your
submission and discovered
your story.
How reassuring it is to
know that the future of
Western literature lies
squarely in monkey $#%&.
THANK YOU!
THANK YOU!
THANK YOU!
THE CHALLENGE NOW IS
TO REMAIN HUMBLE.

RAT AND PIG QUIT THE MONASTERY.
BUT I THOUGHT THEIR APOCALYPTIC REFRIGERATOR SCARED THEM INTO LEADING RELIGIOUS LIVES.
NOT ANYMORE...THEY'VE VOWED TO NEVER LET AN APPLIANCE DOMINATE THEIR LIVES AGAIN.
... I CAN'T FEEL MY BUTT.

BROTHERS, IT'S COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT DURING THE NUNS' VISIT YESTER-DAY, SOMEONE HERE WHISTLED AND YELLED, "HEY, LADIES."
WITHOUT CASTING ASPERSIONS ON ANY ONE PARTICULAR BROTHER, I'D JUST ASK THAT EACH OF YOU RE-EXAMINE THE DEPTH OF YOUR COMMITMENT TO THE MONASTIC LIFE.
LEAVE IT TO ONE GUY TO RUIN IT FOR THE REST OF US.

I CAN'T BELIEVE RAT AND PIG HAVE JOINED A MONASTERY... THEY MUST NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT BEING A MONK ENTAILS.
I'M SURE THEY CAREFULLY CONSIDERED ALL THE RAMIFICATIONS BEFORE MAKING SUCH A DEEP, SPIRITUAL COMMITMENT.
...DUDE...FOR THE LAST TIME... THERE IS NO "PIZZA AND BEER" NIGHT.

I HEAR PIG AND RAT BELIEVE THEIR REFRIGERATOR IS A PROPHET OF DOOM.
YEAH, AND IT'S SCARED THEM SO BADLY THAT THEY'VE APPARENTLY DECIDED TO MAKE SOME SERIOUS CHANGES IN THEIR LIVES.
HOW SERIOUS?
HOW DO YOU SPELL "LEVITICUS"?

LISTEN, MORON... WE DO NOT HAVE AN APOCALYPTIC REFRIGERATOR... WE PROBABLY JUST JOSTLED A COUPLE OF THE MAGNETIC LETTERS AND COINCIDENTALLY, THEY SPELLED OUT THE WORD "REPENT."
AND IN THOSE DAYS SHALL MEN SEEK DEATH, AND SHALL NOT FIND IT; AND SHALL DESIRE TO DIE AND DEATH SHALL FLEE FROM THEM
REVELATION 9:6
IF YOU NEED ME, I'LL BE IN CHURCH.

THE MAGNETIC LETTERS ON OUR REFRIGERATOR ARE FORMING THEMSELVES INTO WORDS... LOOK.
THE END IS NEAR
GIMME A BREAK, MORON. YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE WE HAVE THE WORLD'S ONLY APOCA-
LYPTIC REFRIGERATOR?!
REPENT
LET'S EAT OUT.

The Adventures of Angry Bob
by Rat
Angry Bob was angry. He went to the zoo.
Bob bought a pretzel and a can of soda pop and sat on a green bench facing the monkey cage. The hungry monkeys stared at Bob.
It is a good day for the zoo, Bob thought. I am sweating and the pretzels are warm and the soda is refreshing.
I am happy, Bob exclaimed. I thought a warm pretzel and a refreshing soda pop would do it. All it took was a warm pretzel and a refreshing soda and a comfortable bench by the monkey cage.
A projectile struck Bob in the ear. A monkey screeched. More projectiles followed. Bob ran...
...straight into the path of the zoo's biannual Parade of Elephants.
Bob popped like a grape and died.
DON'T TAUNT THE MONKEYS.

Dear Bob Woodward,
Please tell me the identity of "Deep Throat".
...I’m thinking Dan Marino.
YOU DUMB PIG...THAT WASN’T HIS NAME.
...I’m thinking John Elway.

LISTEN, RAT. ONE OF US HAS TO BREAK THE NEWS TO ZEBRA THAT HIS COUSIN LARRY'S DEAD.
WELL, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT. HE LOVED THIS STUPID GUY.
WELL, MAYBE WE COULD DO IT IN A WAY THAT'S BOTH EASY FOR US AND SENSITIVE TO ZEBRA'S NEEDS.
OKAY.
I CAN DO THAT.

HI, ZEBRA...THIS IS RAT...LISTEN, I THINK PIG FOUND YOUR MISSING COUSIN, LARRY.
FOUND HIM??! HE FOUND LARRY??! OUR LARRY??!
OH, HOW I'VE LONGED TO SEE HIM AGAIN AND EMBRACE HIM AND CATCH UP ON ALL THE PRECIOUS MOMENTS WE'VE MISSED IN EACH OTHER'S LIVES!!
HOW IS HE??...HOW IS HE??...HOW IS HE??
...HE'S CHANGED.

PIG IS GONNA BREAK INTO SAFARI BOB'S HOUSE AND FREE THE ANIMALS.
FREE THEM? THOSE ARE STUFFED ANIMAL HEADS.
HE THINKS THEY'RE LIVING ANIMALS WHO JUST POKED THEIR HEADS IN AND GOT STUCK, SO HE'S GONNA TRY AND PULL THEM OUT OF THE WALL.
OH, C'MON. YOU REALLY THINK HE'S THAT STUPID?
...FOLKS, AGAIN, IF I'M PULLING TOO HARD, YOU HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING.

HI, SAFARI BOB. THIS IS MY PAL, RAT... HE WANTED TO SEE YOUR COLLECTION OF BIG GAME.
WHAT'S THAT IN YOUR HAND?
A CARROT... I BROUGHT IT FOR THE MOOSE.
PIG... THAT MOOSE IS STUFFED.
WHAT'S ONE MORE CARROT?

I WENT TO SAFARI BOB'S HOUSE TODAY.
IS THAT THE NEIGHBOR THAT HUNTS BIG GAME?
I DON'T KNOW. BUT I DO KNOW THAT WHILE I WAS THERE, A BUNCH OF ANIMALS STOPPED BY AND POKED THEIR HEADS THROUGH HIS DEN WALL.
YOU DUMB PIG. THOSE ARE ANIMALS HE'S SHOT.
YOU'D THINK THEY'D LEARN.

Angry Bob was angry. "I need to buy an old rocking chair, put it on my porch, and be happy."
Bob bought the house he wanted and sat on his big, wide front porch in a rocking chair and rocked.
Bob drank a big glass of ice cold lemonade and rocked. Bob rocked.
Bob watched as the neighbor's cat, Wilfy, played in the yard. Wilfy rolled. Wilfy played. Wilfy purred. Bob rocked.
Bob watched as little Jimmy the paperboy rode his green bicycle, tossing out the morning newspapers. Bob rocked.
Rocking, Bob achieved the sense of nirvana he had long sought. "On my big, wide front porch, in my rocking chair, I am happy."
"Happy," he repeated to himself, smiling.
A Sunday paper struck Bob in the head. He fell out of his chair and died.
"Heads," yelled the paperboy, after the fact, as he stole Bob's rocking chair and rode off.
...ALWAYS TIP YOUR PAPERBOY.