I Guess This Means Bob Weber Takes Christmas Off Too.

I spy, wit my littul eye, sumtin beginnin wit O.

“I’m not playing this, Max.”

Aw c’mon Sly! I’m bored!

“It was your idea to come this way.”

Jes cuz it’s my fault dun mean I ain’t bored! He fidgets like a kid on an airplane. How’d we get in dis mess, anyway?

Because They Ran This, the Least Christmassy Strip Ever, On Christmas.

“You sure you want to know?”

Why da hell not?

I shrug. “Ok, don’t say I didn’t warn you. See that guy up there?”

Da galinule wit the kid?

“Yep–let’s call him Oliloplp–he started it. Oliloplp here isn’t a very good father. Maybe he’s divorced, maybe he just works really long hours, either way he doesn’t get to see his kid as much as he should. But when he does, he doesn’t really have very good judgment. So when the kid says that they should pull over, get out onto the median, and decide from there where to go next, Oliloplp doesn’t argue.”

An… how does that make dere be a traffic jam? Max blinks, trying to catch a hold of the only thing I said that made any sense to him.

“Cause the trucker in front of us–call him Rirorm–is indecisive about maintenance.  When he’s on the road, he gets very nervous about breaking down, but when he actually gets into the garage, he gets lazy and never actually gets around to doing any of the maintenance. Which only makes him more paranoid when he gets back on the road. So when he sees a father and son pointing at his truck, he assumes there’s some horribly obvious breakdown, stops, and gets out to have a look.”

Which stops us.

“It does. And we stop everyone behind us.”

So what’re dey named? Utckr? Chatw? Maybe dat angry soccer ma back dere is called Drebgi!

“How would I know their names? Especially if they’re that stupid.”

Yer da woist story tellah evah.

“You asked.”

He looks thoughtful. That isn’t a good sign. Ya know, we are cops.

“And?”

So couldn’ we get out an like… direct da traffic? Least enuff fer us ta get outta here.

“I DON’T direct traffic, Max. Not ever. Don’t ever suggest that again.”

Dammit Sly! I’m about to go outa my mind here!

I lean back in the seat and close my eyes. “Go talk to Oliloplp.”

The Final Word.

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