“And what is, uh, this young lady here doing?”
“It’s called a job, Bob.”
“I’ve heard of those. Had a couple. Cowboy, rock star. Is she a cowboy or a rock star?”
“Then I have no frame of reference. Also, I notice her lyric-screen is not on a microphone stand, but on the desk in front of her. And there’s no lyrics.”
“That’s a computer, Bob.”
“Super-computer? I know one of those. Good guy. Well, not a guy. Wall.”
“Just a regular computer.”
“Ah. And what are we watching?”
“They’re scamps, kitties.”
Bobby has now reached the point in his career that when he shows up at places, he is led around the room to look at stuff. Like the Pope, or Kim Jong-Un.
Hey, Matt Busch. Whatcha doing?
“Sell your bullshit elsewhere, twinkletits.”
Can I steal “twinkletits?”