“Look who I asked to join the Dead!”
You did what now?
“I asked Kid Rock to join the Dead. Everybody’s in the Dead, yay!”
Can I talk to you alone for a minute, please?
“Well, I’m talking to my new band member, Kid, here.”
Come talk to me or I’ll strike you.
This stops here.
First of all, it’s bad enough those idiots are self-aware and I have to talk to them; I’m not talking to the Phishes, too.
“Y’know, your tone is getting on my nerves a little.”
It is? Would you rather talk to, like, every other person on the internet about this? Trust me: I’m the closest thing to a friend you got from now til July 6th.
“You might have a point.”
No inviting people to join the Dead.
He’s not allowed to! Bobby’s been calling audibles for fifty years now, and it’s getting worse lately: he tried to fill a Vicodin scrip at Starbucks last week.
“I’ve done that.”
Yeah. So: no more invites. Also…Kid Rock? Jesus, man.
“He’s my friend.’
Don’t make your problems everyone else’s.