|Tuesday, August 8, 2006|
|Panel 1: In
the dining hall of whatever university residence these people live in,
Marie and the gentleman with the curly black hair carry their trays
over to a table. The dining hall, like most of the rooms in this place,
has brick walls.|
Man: Who says you live next door to Satan?
Marie: Uh...girl with poofy red hair.
Panel 2: Marie and the man place their food on the table. The chairs in this dining hall are tall, with wood and leather backs imprinted with crests.
Man: Oh, Barbara. Yeah...see, she's an English Ph.D student, and all English Ph.D students eventually go insane.
Panel 3: Marie, sitting, picks up her burger and goes to take a bite. The man sits beside her.
Man: Barbara's in her sixth year. She sees ghosts in the laundry room and sings Puccini arias to her furniture.
Panel 4: A voice issues from under the table, startling Marie. Presumably, the voice belongs to Barbara.
Barbara: They're not Puccini; they're Mozart!
Man: Ah yes: and every Thursday, she eats lunch on the floor.
Alt-Text: Personal experience? With the insanity of upper-year English students? What...me?