Hey, Holly Bowling. Whatcha doing?
“Jamming, wearing a panda head.”
It looks unspeakably filthy.
“Sex panda, motherfucker.”
You okay? Usually, you’re far less happy to talk to me.
“Dude, it’s Jam Cruise. Literally everything on this boat has been dosed. Everyone’s been tripping since we left dock.”
That sounds fun.
“There have been several mutinies.”
One would imagine. What kind of stuff they got on this boat?
“It’s unbelievable. There’s an ice skating rink.”
On a cruise ship?
“Yeah. It’s like giving God the finger.”
“Right? Waves inside a ship inside waves. Waveception.”
Sure. Seriously, though: why the panda head?
“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
“I couldn’t find my hat.”
“I don’t have a top part to my skull. It’s like an eight-inch fontanelle.”
Can you see brain?
“Only if the light’s real good. There’s like a yolk-type deal covering it.”
I did not know this about you, Holly Bowling.
“Seriously, don’t tell anyone.”
I promise. No one read this shit.