Do the unusual forces of mystery surround us all and warp our daily lives into unrecognizable nightmares of incomprehension? Hard to tell. It's a mystery. What we DO know is that mystery tales have filled many a stupid comic. Like this one!


This is NOT the Segway Tour this couple signed up for! Travel tip: make sure your tour operators are licensed, legitimate, and NOT evil wizards.


The dice were loaded - with horror and sudden death! And of course whatever hideous fungus was causing that terrible skin condition suffered by the giant hand rolling those dice. We're going to need fifty thousand gallons of Purell, stat!


Whitey could try betting on poker or blackjack or roulette or the ponies or the Raiders, but no, he's got to stick with the thing he's bad at.


Lying down with a lot of cats licking my face? Don't threaten me with a good time, Britt! Can we do it now? Where are the kitties? Here kitty kitty!


Gamblers Anonymous says, when you're finally tapped out and the local crew is going to break both your legs, just hop the next freight out of town, change your name, and start over. That's half the fun of a gambling addiction!


Just when he thinks he's escaped the gambling world, the gambling world draws him back in with the glamorous, exciting figure of a unshaven hobo in rags holding some magic dice.


Wow, with dice like this anybody could become a millionaire, instead of riding the rails in a lice-infested boxcar. Oh well, there's certainly no accounting for taste. Takes all kinds to make a world!


I don't know what's funnier, this broke-ass degenerate asking how much the dice cost - as if you have any cash! - or how angry this hobo's getting at the idea of somebody using his precious dice to make a buck. Did you think Whitey was going to spend hours rolling perfect sevens and then hand them back saying "that's pretty neat, I guess"?


Hobo murder, once an activity restricted to psychopathic teens and serial killers, has now been adopted by the compulsive gambler. What is the world coming to?


So that hobo was actually Satan? Shouldn't hobo murder be OK if it's Satan? Tell you what, try it out in court and let us know what happens.


You'd think with all the cash flying around, any reputable underground gambling den could finance a table upon which their clientele could throw their craps without kneeling, but this crew is keeping it real and old-school. Also I just like the phrase "throw their craps," which will never not make me laugh, and which is why they don't let me into underground gambling dens any more.


Wait a minute, the gangsters who run this illegal casino will threaten when you lose - AND when you win? It's like they're gangsters, or something!


As they suffer while being crushed to death by the giant dice, these thugs might be asking themselves, wasn't this story supposed to be about a magician who magically placed a nicely-dressed couple on top of some giant dice? Why aren't we in THAT story? It sure looked a lot less painful!


Gambling. Sometimes so small anybody can dismiss it or hide it away, sometimes it's an enormous problem that crushes people to death. Know your limit and stay within it!


Well, it's back to the freight train for Whitey, and YAHHHH! That hobo kept a flashlight on him at all times just in case he needed to hold it under his chin and scare people!


An indestructible spectre hurling various objects through their enemies - has this suddenly turned into Jojo's Bizarre Adventure? No. The fashions are WAY off.


The state police officers are now doing forensic pathology on all the bodies they happen to find lying around in rail yards, and this is making Quincy angry. Angrier than usual, I mean.


It's good police technique to give those dice you found on the corpse by the railroad a big whiff. You can really smell the sulphur! Did that guy fart a lot when he died, or what? Who says police work isn't glamorous - not Hobo Satan, that's for sure. So remember, if you ever find yourself in a boxcar with a hobo throwing boxcars - take the next train!

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