What a strange way to start the Aeneid. (Also I drew this before I met anyone named Ron whose deal I wondered about, so don’t take it personally if you are a Ron seeing this.)
“Someday,” thought Socrates, as he molded a pinch pot he would proudly display to his mom before mushing it into the carpet, causing her to spend 3 hours cleaning it up, “our partnership will be part of history books.”