...and Hobbes? :(
This won't have nearly as much impact on people who don't know who Calvin and Hobbes are, but for yours truly, a rapacious C&H fan who has consumed every one of its comic strips in existence, it ripped my heartstrings well out and tied them around the North Pole. Rest in Peace, Hobbes.
Image courtesy of MeFi, linked through SnarkMarket.
In other news, I would like to take this opportunity to declare all-out war on my sock drawer. The fiendish contraption is singularly incapable of dispensing a matching pair of socks, and I am convinced there's a platoon of sock-smuggling drawer-gnomes whose sole purpose is to squirrel away one sock from each pair deposited in the drawer, so that I am left with an ENTIRE DRAWER OF ODD SOCKS.
This has resulted, unsurprisingly, in the furious sock-frenzy ransack that has become my daily morning routine, and even more unsurprisingly, in a lamentable state of affairs in which on any day of the week there is an 80% possibility that a closer scrutiny of my ankles will reveal chromatistic discord of diabolical proportion. The sock-gnomes, it seems, derive perverse enjoyment in maximizing the levels of embarrassment by engendering colour-coordinanting nightmares, viz., wherein I am forced to leave the house wearing one bright pink sock with a silver fringed penguin embroidered into the side, and one fluorescent green sock inlaid with a delicate pattern of black and orange hearts.
I am also looking into the culpability of my washing machine, which too has long been a hotspot for mysterious apparell-atory disappearances.
A final caveat: no, you are not allowed to ask why I own such ghastly socks in the first place.