My copy said “jasper wine and sugar,” I do believe.
So did mine, I just can’t type.
Paraphrased per my rather poor memory:
Milo: “Ah, a ‘Band-Aid’ brand bandage in the convenient “flesh” color, eh?”
Oliver Wendell Jones (grumpy): “Yes . . .”
“Who’s the tomato?”
And who could forget the Banana Jr. 6000, featuring Bananawrite, Bananadraw, Bananafile, and Bananamanager?
(Some assembly required.)
Best of all, it turns off!
My favorite parody was the fake ad on one Sunday:
"GENE SIMMONS NEVER HAD A PERSONAL COMPUTER WHEN HE WAS A KID.
How do we know? We know because our own well-documented research has shown conclusively that a child who lacks his own personal computer during those earliest school years will very probably grow up to be a bass player in a heavy metal rock band who wears women’s fishnet pantyhose and sticks his tongue down to his kneecaps. Just like Gene Simmons.
…
The Banana Junior 6000…Buy one before it’s too late. Gene’s mother wishes she had."
I still like to imitate Opus when putting on my deodorant.
foosh Aigh!
foosh Aigh!
“The ‘Right Guard’ is a wee bit chilly this morning.”
Never fails to crack me up.
“Ooooh yeah baby, rock 'n roll!
I kneed you like fresh pizza dough!
Your my toots, my big papoose!
Kiss me ‘til my nose is loose!
Keep your love comin’ at me like a wild hippopotamoose!”
Yeah, I serenade my wife from time to time…what of it?
Anyway, a very necessary link for this thread: Bloom County: The Lost Strips
Curse you! <insert fist-shaking smiley here> That sent me to the bookcase to look up the Banana strip I recall best: it features just the computer, talking to itself. First panel: I think. Therefore . . . Second panel: I am. I Am! Third panel: “I think! Therefore I am alive! Alive with life, and thought and mind! Sweet consciousness! . . and immortal soul-- -” At this point the computer, in its excitement, manages to pull its power cord out of the outlet and keels over dead.
It was the best description of “man’s existential state” ever penned.
Putting cold shaving gel on my face always reminds me of that.
I love the songs and poems from Bloom County:
In my dreams,
You’re all I sees,
Boobs, butt and knees,
Be my main squeeze.
(Steve Dallas, to Bobbi, I think)
LEPER LOVER
Leper lover, creature of the dark,
Drip your disease, leave your mark,
Through the gutter, slime and stinky,
George Bush is a Twinkie.
LOVE RHINO
Lemme graze into your veldt,
Lemme stomple your albino
Lemme nibble your buds,
I’m your love rhino.
Did anyone else LOVE the songs that came with Billy and the Boingers, Bootleg? I can’t find a better version than this one but it gives you the general idea. I still love this song. U Stink but I Love You was a classic too.
Off the top of my head:
“My mistress is pooped, the Reds have Oklahoma, and I’m going to bed!”
“Mystery man mugs mime with meat: millions make merry.”
“And who could forget Jimi Hendrix’s Freakin’ in the Purple Haze With A Flyin’ Hippo?”
“A pox on your first born, you ugly wart on a salamander’s tongue!”
“Down with the great hated satanistic homeowner bourgeois swine-pig!”
“Just stomp on his head. He loves it.”
“Greetings, Mr. Bloom. We’re da copyright lawyers from United Feature Syndicate. Me and Rocco here been noticin’ some similarities 'twixt our “Garfield” and dat “Bill da Cat” joik. Ain’t dat right, Rocco?”
“Why just look. They’re burning the port-a-potties.”
“You’re never too old to have a happy childhood.”
I’d better quit now, or I’ll be here all night.
Oh, and give Imelda a squeeze for me …
“Middle of the road, man it stanks
Let’s run over Lionel Richie with a tank!”
No walruses, please.
I can’t be buggered to look it up, but I love the strip of the school science fair where after the teacher confirms that Oliver Wendell Jones Jr’s project isn’t a model of a thermonuclear device, it’s a real thermonuclear device and he claps his hands to get everyone’s attention and says something like:
“Okay people! Fire drill!”
To which Oliver Wendell Jones replies, “Cool yer jets. I got the safety on.”
One of my favorite storylines was when Opus went to jail. Several great moments:
Opus hailing the guard to complain about the toilet on the wall (“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Jailer … I have a problem with my suite. Over here in the east wing, specifically …”)
His cellmate, a hulking biker-type, who “strangled Oakland.”
- Opus: “A colorful sports metaphor, no doubt.”
- Biker: “Nope, I strangled every single person in Oakland.”
- Opus (with a dazed and frightened expression on his face): “Tut-tut! Enough chit-chat … have I shown you our lovely toilet?”
Opus talking with his lawyer, Steve Dallas:
- Opus: "… and my cellmate says he strangled Oakland.
- Steve: “Must be a colorful sports met-”
- Opus (grabbing Steve’s shirt): “GEMME OUT! OUT! OUT!”
Steve Dallas’s first rule of successful litigation: Never sue poor people; they don’t have any money.
Oliver Wendell Jones: Mr. Dallas, last year when we were at that fancy hotel I expectorated into the salad bar.
Steve Dallas: blink
Oliver Wendell Jones: Do you know what expectorated means?
Steve Dallas: No.
Oliver Wendell Jones: I hawked a loogey.
Steve Dallas: waving arms Don’t wanna hear it!!!