Say, that's a lovely Beatrice Arthur T-shaped Garment on your chest!

C H I M P S BY BOBBY RUFFERTO Loraine? “Yes, Burt?” Are you sleeping? “No.” *Sigh.* “Is something wrong, honey?” No. Yes... Loraine, how come you don’t pick nits off my back anymore? “Burt--” Are you having an affair? “. . .” You are. I knew it. You are. I bet it’s Stan. It’s Stan, isn’t it? You’re running around with Stan, that no good spider monkey! I knew it. I saw the way you two were throwing feces together at the lake yesterday-- “Burt... I’m not cheating on you, honey. I swear. I promise, I love you. It’s... it’s just...” What? What is it? “I’m just feeling like… I’m feeling old. Since the kids left the tree, I’m feeling old and unwomanly and haggard. My fur is shedding. My joints ache...” Aw, Lorraine, baby, you know I don’t care about all that. Let’s swing over to the lake and throw some feces together like old times. “I love you, Burt.” I love you, Loraine. “Burt?” Yes, Loraine? “Let’s play hide the banana.” I love it when you talk dirty. *Resistance is futile. Thou shalt SUBMIT.* *The ARCHIVES of wit are expanding daily. Check them out, won't you?*