This Fan Theory About Marge Simpson Is Devastating
Bojack Horseman creator Raphael Bob-Waksberg has broken our collective hearts, tweeting a short poem about the tragic existence of Marge Simpson.
Theorising that she doesn’t actually have any friends, and has been incredibly lonely since the death of her neighbour, Maude Flanders, Raphael has imagined a difficult life for TV’s most famous matriarch.
Check it out here:
Does Marge have friends?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) July 12, 2016
(a poem in fifteen tweets)
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Who are Marge’s friends? Is Helen Lovejoy a friend? Sarah Wiggum? Agnes Skinner?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
To whom does Marge spill her secrets over coffee on cold days? Who laughs at Marge’s jokes? Who knows Marge, truly and well?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Who tells Marge to leave the brute, knowing she won’t? “You don’t have to stay. You deserve so much more.”
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Who, on a morning walk, sees a tall blue bush, texts a photo to Marge, “this made me think of you”? Surely not Lenny, or Kirk or Luann.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Did Marge mourn for Maude Flanders? Late nights, at the kitchen table, staring at her own hands. Is she haunted still by her absence?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Does she see in her late neighbor a cautionary tale? Seldom-remembered, semi-anonymous Maude — could this fate too befall Marge?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Perhaps, once at a summer barbecue, when both were still alive, Maude grabbed Marge’s hand under the table and held tight.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
What prompted this sudden connection, this sudden expression of— what was it, warmth?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
The two weren’t close— acquaintances, sure, had they ever even hugged?
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
And yet here they were, holding hands, silently, secretly, while their children shrieked and their husbands grilled the hot dogs.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
One night, Marge couldn’t sleep, the linens, hung to dry in the yard, flapping in the wind with unprecedented accent.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Marge wandered into the night, a fleck of yellow in a blanket of white stars, and she felt, as she often did, alone.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Marge felt the sharp grass on her feet, the breeze on her face. Over the fence she saw Maude, pale as a sheet, her eyes wet with tears.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Marge looked to her— “Maude?” and Maude shook her head.
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
And Maude whispered this: “It’s not the calm before the storm that frightens me. It’s the calm that follows.”
— Raphael Bob-Waksberg (@RaphaelBW) 12 July 2016
Poignant…
Image Credit: Deviant Art