If there are love handles, there must also be burn handles!
If you remember from Dark Balloon past, you’ll recall the bold adventures of IntricacyMan!
“Where are my keys?” “Have you seen Billy?” “What’s up with Marsha’s hair?”
All these questions, and more, can be answered by IntricacyMan! Defender of good! Fighter of e-vil! Interior designer!
Today, IntricacyMan pays a visit to the cafeteria!
IntricacyMan walked into the cafeteria, bringing The Nitpicker with him.
“I’m really hungry, you know? It’s weird; I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. I think it might have to do with old age,” IntricacyMan said to The Nitpicker.
“Mm.”
IntricacyMan turned around around. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“Sure, sure, you were talking about liver spots or something.”
“Christ—and for frigging sake will you stop doing that to your nose? It’s like you’re The Nosepicker or something.”
“There’s no need to mention my brother,” The Nitpicker said, sadly.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“You know he has mental problems,” The Nitpicker muttered.
All of a sudden, someone started choking!
“Look, look!” The Nitpicker poked IntricacyMan.
“Stop that! Stop that!”
“That woman’s choking! Do something!”
“Well, first of all, she could just be having a heart attack. The gestures she’s making, it’s kind of ambiguous,” said IntricacyMan.
“Hey, do you want to be The Nitpicker? Is that it?”
“OK, OK, hold your horses. I’m just doing your job since you seem to suck so badly at it.”
“You know I just went through a divorce!” The Nitpicker shouted, grabbing the attention of the entire cafeteria. The people who rushed to help the choking grandma stopped and inched closer, expecting drama. The lunch ladies stopped ladling. The grandma even gurgled a little bit quieter.
“Technically, it was an annulment,” IntricacyMan pointed out.
“There! You’re doing it again! Stop it! I’m The Nitpicker!”
“Look, can we just stop arguing?”
“This isn’t an argument! It’s more like I’m screaming at a stupid monkey!”
“So you would say it’s more like a brawl?” said IntricacyMan.
The Nitpicker gave a frustrated shout and left the cafeteria. IntricacyMan sighed and looked at the wide-eyed, frozen lunch lady in front of him. Her name was Marge.
“Look—” IntricacyMan bent down to read the name tag, “—Jeff, it’s nothing. I’ll just get him a card or something.”
Marge stared.
“Could I have the chili?”
Marge kept staring.
“Christ—” IntricacyMan shot his heat beams at Marge, giving her third-degree burns.
“The quality of service these days,” he muttered as he too left the cafeteria, hoping to catch up to The Nitpicker before the screams, the choking, the gurgles, and the bustle of the cafeteria got to him.