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This is a photograph of me when I was two. It's strange. I KNOW that's me, but I don't feel any connection to this image. Everything is so different now. Isn't it weird that one's own past can seem unreal? This is like looking at a picture of somebody else. Say, a slobbering nudist with legs like link sausages. You know, now I can't STAND to wad a soggy blanket in my mouth.
Calvin shows Hobbes a photo of when he was two. Calvin knows it's him, but he doesn't feel a connection to the image. He says it's like looking at a picture of someone else. Hobbes thinks it looks like a slobbering nudist with legs like sausages. Calvin says now he can't stand to wad a soggy blanket in his mouth.