Coworker: “When were these muffins left on my desk?”
Me: “There are muffins on your desk?!”
Coworker: “You don’t remember when they arrived?”
Me: “I would remember muffins arriving. Because I would have eaten all of them before you arrived.”
I then ate one. Blueberry!
These are two entirely separate doodles joined with throwaway text.
I’ll bet the animal meeting was mostly them having off-topic conversations with each other, followed by five minutes of rapid-fire slapdash decision-making.
Boring, boring, boring; “can we just fucking vote to get this over with?”; boring, boring.
Other cultures have much warmer and more colorful motifs than ours.
This is what white people are like:
Super-boring. Nary a pattern or color in sight.
Take the Pilgrims, for example:
Boring, boring, boring; horrible decision to commit genocide; boring, boring.
When I was a teenager, my grandfather married a woman who called herself Marmee and named her four daughters after the Little Women. At Thanksgiving, she and her numerous offspring (and grand-offspring) sang this prayer in unison — while my family cowered, silently, in the Atheist Corner.
Boring, boring, boring; horrible decision to commit group singsong prayer; boring, boring.
Maybe the problem is me. Maybe that’s why I love drawing, Tetris, Minesweeper, and Candy Crush so much. Speaking of which, I need to go try to beat level 147 for the millionth time this week.