soulmates
Original: soulmates on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Panel 1:
Child: Dad, do you believe that you have to find your soulmate?
Dad: Soulmates aren't 'found.'
Panel 2:
Dad: Soulmates are made by spending the time it takes so much that they think your partner mutates to fully fit your weirdnesses, rightfully should always have to detect you.
Panel 3:
Dad: For instance, I haven't clipped my toenails in 4 months, and your mother hasn't said a word.
Dad: Soulmates are made, but it is like the knowledge of our future death, present, but too familiar to be hated.
Panel 4:
Dad: I've noticed but I long ago hoarded the part of my mind capable of feeling anger or sadness about it!
Child: Soulmates?
Votey:
Dad: We've broken each other, and nobody else knows how to find all the pieces.
(A woman is shown smiling broadly.)
Child: Dad, do you believe that you have to find your soulmate?
Dad: Soulmates aren't 'found.'
Panel 2:
Dad: Soulmates are made by spending the time it takes so much that they think your partner mutates to fully fit your weirdnesses, rightfully should always have to detect you.
Panel 3:
Dad: For instance, I haven't clipped my toenails in 4 months, and your mother hasn't said a word.
Dad: Soulmates are made, but it is like the knowledge of our future death, present, but too familiar to be hated.
Panel 4:
Dad: I've noticed but I long ago hoarded the part of my mind capable of feeling anger or sadness about it!
Child: Soulmates?
Votey:
Dad: We've broken each other, and nobody else knows how to find all the pieces.
(A woman is shown smiling broadly.)
Alt text
A four-panel SMBC comic. A bespectacled dad sits in an armchair talking with his small child about soulmates. He explains that soulmates aren't 'found' but made by spending so much time together that your partner mutates to fit all your weirdnesses and is then obligated to tolerate you. He notes he hasn't clipped his toenails in four months and the child's mother hasn't said a word, comparing the acceptance of a soulmate to the knowledge of one's own future death: ever-present but too familiar to be hated. He cheerfully adds that he long ago hoarded away the part of his mind capable of feeling anger or sadness about it. The confused child just asks, 'Soulmates?' In the votey, a woman smiles broadly while the dad's line reads: 'We've broken each other, and nobody else knows how to find all the pieces.'
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.