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true-love-3

Original: true-love-3 on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal

Transcript

Panel 1:
Ghost woman (a green-skinned female ghost with long pale hair, haunting the woods): "...BUT MY TRUE LOVE NEVER CAME! AS I WEPT IN THE DARKNESS, A TREE FELL UPON ME. THAT WAS FORTY YEARS AGO, BUT STILL, I HAUNT THESE WOODS."

Panel 2:
Man (off-panel/listener): "WHO WAS THE TRUE LOVE?"
Ghost woman: "LEWIS G. BURLINGATE"

Panel 3:
Man: "LEWIS?! LEWIE BURLINGATE? HE'S STILL ALIVE! GOD. LEWIE? HE'S 58 AND STILL CRUSHES A SIX PACK OF COORS 3 DAYS A WEEK. LITERALLY CRUSHES AGAINST HIS FOREHEAD. THE YOUNG GUYS THINK IT'S HILARIOUS, BUT GEEZ. HE SHOULD BE WITH HIS KIDS MORE. HOLD UP I'LL FISH HIM OUT OF THE PUB."

Panel 4:
(The man waves his hands excitedly; an older man with gray hair appears, gesturing with both hands raised.)

Panel 5 (caption: "SHORTLY..."):
The older man (Lewis): "SALLY! SALLY, I NEVER FORGOT!"
Ghost woman: "MY NAME IS ELIZABETH."

Panel 6:
Lewis: "CAN GHOSTS DO SEX?"
Ghost woman (looking dismayed): "MAYBE I'LL BECOME A DRYAD."

Votey:
The ghost woman (now a vague white blob shape): "BOY I REALLY DODGED A BULLET WHEN I DIED YOUNG."

Alt text

A six-panel SMBC comic. A green-skinned female ghost with long pale hair haunts a dark forest, telling her tragic story: her true love never came, a tree fell on her, and she has haunted the woods for forty years. When a man asks who the true love was, she names "Lewis G. Burlingate." The man excitedly recognizes him: Lewie is still alive at 58, crushes Coors cans against his forehead three days a week, and the man offers to fish him out of the pub. Shortly after, an enthusiastic gray-haired old man (Lewis) cries "Sally! Sally, I never forgot!" but the ghost flatly corrects him: "My name is Elizabeth." He then asks "Can ghosts do sex?" and the dismayed ghost mutters "Maybe I'll become a dryad." Votey (aftercomic): the ghost, now just a vague white blob, says "Boy I really dodged a bullet when I died young." The joke: her romanticized lost love turned out to be a boorish disappointment, making her early death a lucky escape.

Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.