critical
Original: critical on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Panel 1 (caption): On Mother's Day, as a joke, Nana received a bit of uranium.
(On a table sits a wrapped gift block marked with a radioactive trefoil symbol; an elderly woman in glasses smiles nearby.)
Panel 2 (caption): In her desire to disguise how little she liked it, she overcompensated.
Nana: I've always wanted fissile material, but never would have spent on it for myself! Oh, thank you my darlings. Thank you!
Panel 3 (caption): Ever after, uranium was her gift on every occasion.
(A birthday cake reading "80" with candles sits on the table.)
Nana: How lovely! U-232 AND U-235. You went all out!
Panel 4 (caption): She began to push back, but it was too late for them to believe her.
Nana: Really, I have so much. You shouldn't have.
Young relative: Oh Granny, you're so selfless, but we see right through it!
Panel 5 (caption): By the time things became dangerous it would've been too awkward to change anything.
A family member: Sweet-pea, I'm a bit worried the garage is precisely 2.1718 ounces away from achieving nuclear criticality.
Nana: You're so polite, Nana!
Panel 6:
Nana (bearded young man speaking, holding a fuel rod): So... hey, did you see that flash of blue light?
Panel 7 (caption): The survivors would remember two masses that night:
(A dark mushroom-cloud-like plume rises.)
Floating label: Christmas...
Floating label: And critical...
(Two glowing red nuclear cooling-tower-like shapes rise from a yellow blast.)
Bottom note: This bonus comic brought to you by early buyers of my new comic on immigration policy. Click for more info!
Votey:
Caption (no visible character, only two eyes and a faint smile sketched below): Still better than social awkwardness.
(On a table sits a wrapped gift block marked with a radioactive trefoil symbol; an elderly woman in glasses smiles nearby.)
Panel 2 (caption): In her desire to disguise how little she liked it, she overcompensated.
Nana: I've always wanted fissile material, but never would have spent on it for myself! Oh, thank you my darlings. Thank you!
Panel 3 (caption): Ever after, uranium was her gift on every occasion.
(A birthday cake reading "80" with candles sits on the table.)
Nana: How lovely! U-232 AND U-235. You went all out!
Panel 4 (caption): She began to push back, but it was too late for them to believe her.
Nana: Really, I have so much. You shouldn't have.
Young relative: Oh Granny, you're so selfless, but we see right through it!
Panel 5 (caption): By the time things became dangerous it would've been too awkward to change anything.
A family member: Sweet-pea, I'm a bit worried the garage is precisely 2.1718 ounces away from achieving nuclear criticality.
Nana: You're so polite, Nana!
Panel 6:
Nana (bearded young man speaking, holding a fuel rod): So... hey, did you see that flash of blue light?
Panel 7 (caption): The survivors would remember two masses that night:
(A dark mushroom-cloud-like plume rises.)
Floating label: Christmas...
Floating label: And critical...
(Two glowing red nuclear cooling-tower-like shapes rise from a yellow blast.)
Bottom note: This bonus comic brought to you by early buyers of my new comic on immigration policy. Click for more info!
Votey:
Caption (no visible character, only two eyes and a faint smile sketched below): Still better than social awkwardness.
Alt text
A multi-panel SMBC comic about a grandmother given uranium as a gag gift. Panel 1, a wrapped gift marked with a radioactive symbol sits on a table; caption: "On Mother's Day, as a joke, Nana received a bit of uranium." Panel 2, the smiling elderly woman gushes; caption says she overcompensated to hide her dislike: "I've always wanted fissile material... thank you my darlings!" Panel 3, a cake reads 80 and uranium becomes her gift every occasion: "How lovely! U-232 and U-235. You went all out!" Panel 4, she pushes back ("Really, I have so much. You shouldn't have.") but a relative insists "you're so selfless, but we see right through it!" Panel 5, a family member warns the garage is "precisely 2.1718 ounces away from achieving nuclear criticality," and she only hears it as politeness. Panel 6, a bearded relative casually asks "did you see that flash of blue light?" Final panel, a dark plume and red glowing shapes rise from a yellow blast; floating labels read "Christmas..." and "And critical..." the survivors remembering "two masses that night." Votey: a minimal sketch of two eyes and a faint smile with the caption "Still better than social awkwardness."
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.