Speed Bump by Dave Coverly for July 10, 2012

hummm…. i thought i would be named teh Raben by edgar allsn typoe

quoth the ramen, “noodle more”

He was raven mad after that.

as i studied, weak and weary,

midnight came, my deadline scary,

came a rumbling in a region

that students feel in numbers legion.

“ramen” cried I, “i need some more”

but the broken micorwave whispered to me,

“never more”

Maybe the ramen shouldn’t have perched on the pallid bust of bleeep.

Poor Edgar, go dip into your Cache of Almondillos, chocolate will help you feel better.Excellent one Celecca!

He buys his underwear a K-Mart and he’s a exultant driver…

Ramen? Now that’s scary! Yuuuuck!!!! I hate ramen. Ain’t no midnight so dreary, to make me weak and weary enough to eat ramen.

Great strip – and some pretty funny comments too ;-)

His agent then sent the poem to the Far East and it became a big hit in Japan and in college dorm rooms all over the world.

Until he went on to create DYAC.

The End of the Ravenby Edgar Allan Poe’s CatOn a night quite unenchanting,when the rain was downward slanting,I awakened to the rantingof the man I catch mice for.Tipsy and a bit unshaven,in a tone I found quite craven,Poe was talking to a Ravenperched above the chamber door.“Raven’s very tasty,”thought I, as I tiptoed o’er the floor,“There is nothing I like more.”Soft upon the rug I treaded,calm and careful as I headedTowards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore.While the bard and birdie chattered,I made sure that nothing clattered,Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,as I crossed the corridor;For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios and weird decor -Bric-a-brac and junk galore.Still the Raven never fluttered,standing stock-still as he uttered,In a voice that shrieked and sputtered,his two cents worth – “Nevermore.”While this dirge the birdbrain kept up,oh, so silently I crept up,Then I crouched and quickly leapt up,pouncing on the feathered bore.Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -Only this and not much more.Then my pickled poet cried out,“Pussycat, it’s time I dried out!”Never sat I in my hideouttalking to a bird before;How I’ve wallowed in self-pity,while my gallant, valiant kitty,put an end to that damned ditty -then I heard him start to snore.Back atop the door I clambered,eyed that statue I abhor,Jumped – and smashed it on the floor.

Then a huge black bird flew past and the rest was history.