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February 7, 2005

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David and Dale were at the 2005 Mocca Art Festival in NYC June 10 and 11th.

A Lesson Is Learned has been nominated in a bunch of categories in 2005 Cartoonists Choice Awards.

Dale has written a review for Mcsweeney’s in their Reviews of New Food section.


Interviewed by Xenex.org, David and Dale reveal their true ugly natures.

Dale has contributed to Ryan North's collaborative web comic project, Whispered Apologies.


Christopher B. Dino has kindly reviewed our comic in his blog, Totally Jawesome.

Here A Lesson Is Learned is discussed in a lively debate over conceptual webcomics.

There is a review of A Lesson Is Learned in The Webcomics Examiner.



A LESSON IS LEARNED BUT THE DAMAGE IS IRREVERSIBLE updates with incredible regularity, adhering rigorously to a pattern which remains elusive to the world's greatest mathematicians. If you would like to be notified of updates, join our mailing list. We promise to only use your email for our narrow, selfish purposes. You can quit any time you want.



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Archaic creature climbs out of primordial ooze. Dreams of new life for disgusting ooze covered family.

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Dale, who writes the comics.

Snatching you from a Hopeless Abyss Emergency Valentines Day Advice Column

It's time to open up the mail bin gain. The storage site has been flooded, so most your recent letters have experienced severe water damage. However, I managed to save a few hundred by baking them on a warm surface and opening them delicately.

Dearest Dale,

I know a girl on the internet who often posts nice pictures of herself doing things with her friends in her livejournal. Should I ask her out?

clicking away,

Present Structures

Dear Present Structures,

What about the apartment?

What about your wife, Present Structures, awake in the morning, a strand of hair bending in a curl above her head and curtains shifting the blades of sunlight with wind like an unzipped yellow jacket? The freckles on her body draw a map to her mouth, apostrophes to a broken sentence when it opens dry.

Below the poor are trudging home to their suburban hell. It is hailing outside. The sky is grey. The wind is sharp.

Inside your naked wife is smothered in expensive DVDs, rare special editions.

She is reasserting each one. She smiles in the volley of their gleaming bottoms. Their light chimes in the chandelier.

Your high fi stereo is playing melodious recordings. It is polished by your South American maid. She works in cheap tennis shoes from the mall. You find her attractive when she undoes her dark hair and wears light blue. Her tiny muscles strain to push the dust from your hard wood floor on Wednesdays and Fridays. She is dragging a bucket beside the books on your shelf. Reclining photographs of family members wave to you from there. You are supposed to be out. A halogen lamp lights the room. The sky is crowded with spare clouds. Their image is caught in the wobbling glass of your windows. A peak is all you get. You are afraid she will notice the growing line of warm light from the crack in your door.

You slip out to visit an old friend. He is worried about his finances. He has some property he is rebuilding. This area of the city is getting so expensive it's disgusting. There are no stray dogs anymore. They're all attached to women with yoga mats. Some idiot is riding a bicycle in the snow when your soup arrives.

You still smoke in your elevator though most of the tenants complain. It smells like brushed metals and snow in the carpet. You don't work most days. When she opens the door she is so tall you want to knock her over. She's Belgian. She is like a thick wad of butter from the organic grocery store, some elaborate design of the alps on the foil so you know she’s imported. She falls with a flop in to the frying pan, and sizzles, all fat and yellow. She cooks you eggs in the morning, and butters your toast, spreads strawberry preserves all over them, chokes them in preserves. It looks as if your toast has been stabbed and is dying, that’s how goddamn messily she has smeared your thick slice of toast. You smack her white buttery ass and she walks away from the table, and it wobbles beneath pink panties which bring her tiny pimples out. Her ruddy face goes to inspect her fish, choking on all that water.

your friend,



Have you ever fought a villain of PURE ELECTRICITY? And, if so, what did you do?

knots loosening,

Trapped in the Basement

Dear TITB,

Electricity's natural enemy is water. Have you tried letting the creature feed on the high voltage power lines until it grows immense, and then luring it in to the nearby bay, or reservoir?

I had a dream recently where an old friend had been elected president. I stood in the crowd hopelessly hoping to snap a picture of her with my camera. She was dancing in a ballroom while I was retained with the riff-raff. How could she possibly do this too me? The way she was acting I knew her policies would be unhealthy for the nation. I struck up a conversation with the police officer who was retaining me in the lobby, from my perch down a few stairs I could see the procession of important people whose company I was denied. Somebody was trying to plug something in, if this helps.

best of luck,


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David, who draws the comics.

Le Bowl Définitif

Just got back from the Super Bowl.

You probably heard about how I won. It was pretty awesome. Now I have to write a poem for poetry class. Like twenty art students are going to analyze it tomorrow at 1 pm. Here's what I have so far:

Garden gnomes
In charming homes
Progressing without witness
Peace have found
But whimsey drowned
Also, physical fitness

It's pretty edgy stuff, but I can't bottle up the truth.


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(c) David Hellman and Dale Beran 2005