John Allison, Your Words Tickle Me in the Vaguely British Region of My Humor Center (It Borders the Veil of Puns and is Encircled by the Sea of Silly Extended Metaphors)

Tomorrow will be chock full of my opinions and will probably contain a small tirade. But today, I’m going to continue a glorious tradition, wherein I read the archive of a webcomic and then share with you all the quotes that struck my fancy and elicited a titter (so… it’s basically filler, but it’s entertaining filler, which should count for something).

Strictly speaking, I’m bending tradition a bit here because this is not my first read-through of the Scary Go Round archive. However, I just discovered Allison has created a spin-off comic, and I felt I needed a strong refresher on all the crazy happenings of Tackleford in SGR before I dove back into the mind of webcomicland’s craziest Brit.

By the by, this comic is pretty much one of the greatest things to ever grace the face of the interwebs, so you should check it out. It’s zany, intelligent, and oh-so-British.


Tessa: We’ll bust this case Angela Lansbury style. Despite pursuing tough killers, she never even got her cardigan dirty.

Rachel: Do you think Angela Lansbury ever cusses?

Tessa: Jesus yeah. She gets drunk and talks about how cute her ass is.

Ryan: Listen, Satan- if that’s your real name– I don’t owe you no damn soul or nothing.

Satan: I brought your little princess back from the dead. That isn’t cheap! And I need souls as an inexpensive winter fuel. Do you know what it’s like, trying to keep the underworld heated? It’s hell! Ha ha! I am the dark prince of your “observational humour” also!

Tim: Robots are 100% reliable, Amy. They’re better than people.

Amy: Couldn’t, say, an electromagnetic field get into its brain and send it loopy?

Tim: Electromagnetism is a benign force. I am 85% sure it would make the robot’s brain extra nice.

Amy: You shame science with your lies.

Tim: According to this dictionary, “qakki” is not a word, and I demand my lapdance forfeit.

Amy: I’m dropping out of art school, daddy. I need to give more time to my poetry.

Len: Noodle, we have gone over this. When I disown you, I disown your car. I disown your credit cards. Poems are fancy-talking flim flam!


Rachel: What makes Klinker’s book so rare? His dimensional theory sounds like some old soak making things up just to sound clever. Like all physics.

Amy: I think the best bet is for one of us to holler at the evil creature. When it is confused, the other one can hit it.

Shelley: What if you’re wrong and it’s a peaceful creature just trying to live its life right?

Amy: Then tonight’s the night you break your eyes crying.

Shelley: This is a good place! I saw a pub called The Lark’s Arms!

Amy: How can a lark have arms?

Shelley: The countryside is the cradle of evolution, Ames! You may see an educated pig taking tea with the vicar! That is nature being awesome.

Mayor: Shelley, what can you tell us about Robotania? Who is it, where, and why?

Shelley: When the Soviet Union dissolved, the robots built during their Cold War campaign were given their own small country in the Khrebet Cherskogo. Think of it as a robot mountain kingdom of doom, if that helps.

Mayor: And this is where those robots live in peace and happiness?

Shelley: If by that you mean “brutal hardline mechanical Communism,” then yes!

Old Woman: The g-string is a slingshot to Gomorrah.

Tim: I worked out a method by which we could work out whether the human race is essentially good or bad. An anonymous global vote on whether music or pornography should cease to exist.

William: Rachel, you nearly got that Shelley girl killed.

Rachel: I know, I know. MUST TRY HARDER.

William: What’s your problem with her?

Rachel: She annoys me on an existential level, and I have very poor impulse control.

Shelley: Ames, if you had Bette Davis’ eyes, would you use them for good or evil?

Amy: I’d keep them in a jar and use them to freak people out. Then when I got bored, I’d sell them on Ebay.

Shelley: Stinging me to death is a bad idea! I’ll turn into a zombie and… um… develop a sinister twist on my childhood love of jelly.

Jellyfish: My naturally quivering state makes any display of fear deliciously arbitrary.

Fallon: If I had my own ice cream van, the chimes would play “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”

Shelley: Ames, there are legions of the risen undead on our heels. These aren’t frat boys, they’re zombies. Animated corpses that would rather suck out your cerebellum than peek at your knickers.

Amy: Oh, fine. Last week it’s “I wish I could find a boy who was interested in my brain and not my body” and now you’re all “Aaaugh zombies!” Seriously, Shel. Make up your damn mind.

Ryan: I’m growin’ a handsome beard. It’s sparse now but you’ll love it when it’s glossy. You won’t be able to keep your hands off me!

Fallon: I might impress you with my restraint.

Shelley: No, lightbulb, no! I’m gettin’ jiggy with my muse here! We can’t finish up sweaty and spent without your participation!

The Boy: “Bob Crowley was known by many names. Delicious Beast, Black Bob, Saucy Bob, Doktor Proktor…”

Esther: But never “Pappy Sunshine.” What an injustice.

Amy: I’ve never been this rich. Or this smug. I’m going to buy a box of dreams and piss them all away.

Ryan: Why?

Amy: Just because I can.

Amy: Did you ever stop to think that baby Jesus was an alien? Perhaps Mary found him and stuck him up her robe for 6 months. He lived up there eating jam, then, bam! Virgin birth!

Shelley: That is the most appallingly blasphemous thing I have ever heard.

Esther: Where do you learn to sing white noise?

Shelley: Tuvan throat singers can sing two notes at once. But that’s necessary to soothe the winsome yak.

Ryan: The moon’s been in the Earth’s orbit for a long time and it ain’t done nothin’. Give that ol’ circle the benefit of the doubt.

Shelley: I’d like to believe its intentions are pure. But only scientists can prove that the moon isn’t Earth’s stalker.

Riley: Sorry about totally emasculating you back there, Tim.

Tim: Don’t worry, you can’t emasculate someone who’s 100% pure man. If you did, I’d cease to exist.

Shelley: I’d use my giant bazongas for good works and charity.

Amy: I don’t think you can be trusted with bazongas, Shelley.

Shelley: But…


Shelley: Hard as you may find it to believe, I was once like you! I would drink four bottles of vodka a day and still feel thirsty! Eventually I lost my job as a top model and dropped my baby down a manhole!

Amy: Man, I’m so baked right now.

Shelley: Amy, you will go to hell for baking Cedric the Emo Potato. His ghost is very angry at you… but too sad to do anything about it.

Tim: There’s always a remote chance of anything happening. During the act of love a jealous goose could fly in the window and savage me.

Riley: Why… would that happen?

Tim: I’ve seen the way they look at you. It infuriates me.

Ryan: The mellow men of science don’t want to see a sister in diamonds and furs! They want a dame in an anorak who’s been to the Worlds of Warcraft!

Shelley: I don’t know what that is!

Shelley: The British Space Agency! It’s like NASA! But with many billions less dollars. These brave boys fire expensive machinery onto distant worlds, where it breaks immediately!

Amy: Before we start, you have to declare any unrequited loves and back-up girls.

Ryan: Aw c’mon, that’s the secret treasure chest of a man’s heart! The basic oil and grease of single livin’!

Amy: What are you doing?

Ryan: Adjustin’ my unified theory of what ladies are all about. I’m now thinkin’ a lady’s attraction to a man is based on elevation above sea level… or proximity to strong magnets.

Amy: He smells so bad that it’s registering as white noise and fractals.

Priest #1: He took that better than I expected.

Priest #2: That is why you have won national prizes for your pessimism.

Amy: “Chewbacca walked into the spaceport and didn’t know where to look. Battlestar Galactica was doing it with the Millennium Falcon.”

Ryan: Ame, the genre of fan fiction just collapsed like a dead star.

Ryan: If I’d known savin’ that gal’s life would make her love me, I’d have done it in disguise.

Amy: Tell her she’s not your chosen baby bucket! Now!

Ryan: Ames, are you jealous of her Latina looks and homespun charm?

Amy: I’m secure! Very secure! I am a serene lake of sexy, jetskiing allowed at pre-arranged times. She’s a run-away tanker of sex heading for your house, Ryan. Your house will be crushed.

Ryan: I think I understand-

Amy: You’re going to lose a leg!

Smuggler: They’re aboard, uh… Count Blackula.

Blackbeard’s Ghost: I tire of “Count Blackula!” Refer to me as Your Beardness!

Esther: Genius. One page is in another dimension. We’ll print it in the Large Hard-on Collider.

Sarah: Ha, science! She knows science!

Esther: It’s The Boy! He puts these things in my brain. Science facts. He lurves the Hard-on Collider.

Sarah: Hur hur, I bet he does.

Esther: Look, she’s sad, she needs affection.

Sarah: I need my bell rung.

Esther: Her days are divided between embroidery and prayer.

Sarah: I need someone to go up the mountain and catch a goat.

Esther: Her euphemisms are becoming dangerously ornate. I’m going to get us all a cup of tea. Eustace, do the right thing and service my friend.

Amy: Oh the tweed and the elbow pads… and the brogues… I find this gathering very erotic.

Shelley: Amy concentrate! Oxford is not a place for your unbridled lust!

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