advanced
Original: advanced on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Panel 1:
Woman (red hair): How's my degree, doc?
Doctor (bald, glasses): I'm afraid it's advanced.
Panel 2:
Doctor: You've reached stage four credentialing.
Panel 3:
Woman: What's stage five?
Doctor: There is no stage five.
Panel 4:
Woman: What are my options?
Panel 5:
Doctor: You can go into the private sector where none of your skills will be used because they're not profitable, or go into the public sector, where none of your skills will be used because you're busy navigating the bureaucracy.
Panel 6:
Woman: Can you prescribe me anything?
Panel 7:
Doctor: I'm a doctor of comparative literature. I can't prescribe shit.
Votey:
The doctor (drawn as a simple doodle face): I will, however, share my drugs.
Woman (red hair): How's my degree, doc?
Doctor (bald, glasses): I'm afraid it's advanced.
Panel 2:
Doctor: You've reached stage four credentialing.
Panel 3:
Woman: What's stage five?
Doctor: There is no stage five.
Panel 4:
Woman: What are my options?
Panel 5:
Doctor: You can go into the private sector where none of your skills will be used because they're not profitable, or go into the public sector, where none of your skills will be used because you're busy navigating the bureaucracy.
Panel 6:
Woman: Can you prescribe me anything?
Panel 7:
Doctor: I'm a doctor of comparative literature. I can't prescribe shit.
Votey:
The doctor (drawn as a simple doodle face): I will, however, share my drugs.
Alt text
A six-panel comic styled as a grim medical consultation, except the patient is a red-haired woman and the "doctor" is a bald, bespectacled man whose diagnosis is about her academic degree. Panel 1: She asks, "How's my degree, doc?" He replies, "I'm afraid it's advanced." Panel 2: A close-up of the doctor saying, "You've reached stage four credentialing." Panel 3: She asks, "What's stage five?" He says, "There is no stage five." Panel 4: Worried, she asks, "What are my options?" Panel 5: He explains, "You can go into the private sector where none of your skills will be used because they're not profitable, or go into the public sector, where none of your skills will be used because you're busy navigating the bureaucracy." Panel 6: She asks, "Can you prescribe me anything?" Panel 7: He answers, "I'm a doctor of comparative literature. I can't prescribe shit." The joke treats an advanced humanities degree like a terminal illness. Votey (aftercomic): a loose doodle of the doctor's smiling face says, "I will, however, share my drugs."
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.