Leonard Cartoons

Alistair and Baxter are grown men dressed in riding outfits. Reginald wears a tux and stands with a towel over his arm for the champagne near his feet. 

Alistair: I have had enough of you Baxter!

Baxter: OOooooOOOOoooh. Did you hear that Reginald? The giant infantile being has had enough. Reginald?

Reginald: Yes, sire. I heard.

Baxter: Ha! Reginald heard you, Alistair.

Alistair: Of course he heard me. He’s standing right there. And I’m shouting!

Baxter: Oh, are ye shouting? Is it a truth that ye, Alistair Wicketmire shouteth?

Alistair: My last name is Smith. You damn well know that!

Baxter: Pffffft. Smith. Did you hear that Reginald? I’m mocking him Reginald. Reginald?

Reginald: Yes, I did hear. I believe your purposeful use of antiquated English served your degradation of Mr. Smith well.

Baxter: Indeed it did. Did you hear that Alistair? Alistair Smith, Lord of Sheffield.

Alistair: I’ve never even been to Sheffield!

Baxter: And why not? It’s lovely!

Alistair: Who care if it’s lovely? I’m not from there!

Baxter: Reginald cares. Reginald is from Sheffield.

Alistair: Oh. Oh well I’m sorry Reginald. I was just upset at Baxter’s repeated…

Reginald: I’m not from Sheffield.

Alistair: Ah! I’ll murder you both!

Baxter: Wait, you’re from Sheffield, Reginald. Isn’t that where you go on holiday?

Reginald: Sire, when you say holiday, are you referring to my lunch break?

Baxter: Of course!

Reginald: Do you mean the shady spot in the field?

Baxter: Where else? Jackson is always talking about Sheffield, and then going out there to sit.

Reginald: Jackson is from Sheffield. He sits in the field, well, because I believe his spirit is broken.

Alistair: It’s strange when servants get sad. It’s like a seriously injured clown. I mean, I want to help. But I don’t want to get involved in the circumstances that led a man to be both injured and dressed as a clown.

Baxter: Hear hear. Reginald, you’re dismissed. You’ve made Alistair uncomfortable. And I’m tired of looking at your face. I think you’re smarter than me and that makes me uncomfortable.

Alistair: Indeed.

Reginald: As you wish. Shall I send another to hold your umbrella?

Baxter: I think I can manage, Reginald. Oooh, I’m Reginald. I’m not from the shady spot in the field.

Alistair: Ho! Good one Baxter.

Baxter: Full of life I am. Let us not fight, Alistair. Let us gather our mounts, or have Reginald do it, and ride towards the sunset. But not for too long, as my mother warned me about catching cold.

Alistair: As fine an offer as there ever was. Jolly good.

Baxter: Yes, jolly good indeed.

England: 1907
Reginald the butler is digging a hole with a shovel, and sweating. Alistair and Baxter are sitting in chairs watching him, and wearing puffy shirts.

Baxter: Reginald. Reginald. Reginald? Reginald!

Reginald: Yes, sire.

Baxter: Chicken butts.

Alistair: Ho! Nice one Baxter.

Reginald: Sire, that doesn’t fit unless I answer with word what.

Baxter: Chicken butts.

Alistair: Ho! Baxter you scoundrel, you’re unstoppable!

Baxter: Glad someone has a sense of humor around here. I’ve done that joke with Reginald twelve times since the morning, and he just gets grumpier and grumpier.

Alistair: Indeed. Why are you in such a fitzy mood today Reginald? Aren’t you happy digging your hole? Butlers like digging holes. They do it all the time in the north. \

Reginald: Those are miners.

Alistair: I don’t hear the difference.

Baxter: I believe he said finers. It’s a type of butler who is very thin yet remarkably strong.

Alistair: Hmm, that doesn’t sound true, but I don’t know enough to refute it.

Baxter: Excellent.

Reginald: Sire, why am I digging a hole in your mother’s garden?

Baxter: I forget. Do you recall Alistair?

Alistair: What?

Baxter: Chicken butts!

Alistair: Ho! Let us go and find more servants to subject to your wit.

Baxter: A glorious idea! Reginald, put down that shovel. I no longer wish to go to China.

Reginald: Wha…Nevermind.

Baxter: Good, onward.

Alistair and Baxter walk off, leaving Reginald standing in the hole.

A man named Jerry is eating an ice cream cone in a park when God appears above him, in the form of a puffy cloud.  

God: Behold. It is I. God.

Jerry: Whoa! Are you God?

God: Yes…I just said that.

Jerry eats his ice cream cone contemplatively.

Jerry: Man this is a really big deal. Like the biggest deal. If I’m honest I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Am I dressed okay? I knew I should have worn the pants with less stains on them. But I mean, who has the time? Am I right?

Jerry now has ice cream all over his face.

Jerry: Wait, how do I know you’re really God? You don’t look like Santa Claus. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to look like Santa Claus.

God: Well I don’t. And I can’t appear as I really am. My normal visage is too much for your mind. Your head would explode.

Jerry: Badass! Do it!

God: No.

Jerry: Pshh. You’re not God. This is probably just me developing schizophrenia.

God: Why don’t you ask me a question if you’re still unsure of who I am? How about the meaning of life?

Jerry: What’s four thousand divided by two?

God: Two-thousand.

Jerry: Wow, you ARE God!

God: That’s not really a hard question, Jerry. Anyone could have answered that.

Jerry: Not me. I thought it was twelve.

Jerry takes a bite of the waffle cone, smearing ice cream all over his hands and face.

God: You don’t have any other questions? Like not a better one?

Jerry: Can you make ice cream cones?

God: Uh, yeah.

Jerry: Can you make ME an ice cream cone?

God: Fine.

God turns Jerry into a giant ice cream cone. God sighs. Jerry reappears holding a giant triple scoop cone. Jerry has a stunned look on his face. 

Jerry: Whoa. I disappeared into the abyss there. It was like a book by Nietzsche but without the optimism. You know? Like how he obviously wasn’t so pessimistic he didn’t think the stuff would get published.

Jerry notices the cone.

Jerry: Hey! Three scoops. Thanks floating wizard cloud!

God: (Sighs) No problem.

God continues to float and Jerry eats his ice cream cone in silence.