Transcript:
[[Roast Beef is sitting in a chair reading. Ray struts in sporting facial hair]] Ray: Yo check it! Jealous much, anybody? [[Ray looks despondent]] Roast Beef: Oh dogg do not tell me you wear the bloatee Ray: Bloatee? What? [[Ray standing, Roast Beef sitting]] Roast Beef: When a dude of gravity tries to distinguish his neck from his face by arbitrarily shaping facial hair that is the bloatee [[Ray angrily points down at Roast Beef]] Ray: I ain't "of gravity!" I'm in good shape! [[Roast Beef looks up at Ray]] Roast Beef: Plus that thing is so hell of wispy a spider covets [[Ray throws up his hands]] Ray: Man, you know French people got it light on the face! I can't help if it's on the thin side! [[Roast Beef turns back to his book]] Roast Beef: Dogg I cannot brook the gossamer bloatee [[Ray is standing, angrily pointing down. Roast Beef is sitting, reading]] Ray: Well , tough. It's here to stay. I look like a goddamned Musketeer and I mean to kick much ass. [[Roast Beef continues to read his book]] Roast Beef: You look like Three Musketeers gave you cauliflower ass [[Ray looks back at us over his shoulder and slaps his right butt cheek]] <<SLAP! SLAP>> Ray: TIGHT AS A DRUM! SNAP SNAP! LISTEN TO MY DRUM SONG! [[Ray angrily looms over an irritated, still reading Roast Beef]] Ray: OH, HOW THE PEOPLE WILL MARCH! {{title text: How many cauliflower asses clenched in anger at panel 3? Be honest. It's the comb-over of the Internet age.}}