Look at you, drinking from a non-standard vessel.
“I’m youthful and free.”
May I ask what that is?
“It’s an acai leg. It’s like an acai bowl.”
But a leg.
“Nothing gets by you.”
I technically graduated from a very middling college.
“I’m technically attending one now.”
What are you studying?
“And philosophy. This year, we discussed ‘thingness.’ When does a thing achieve ‘thingness?’ Can we discern the phase transition from concept to thing?”
When you can conk someone on the head with it.
“Glib. You’re not seeing the problem.”
A thing requires physicality.
“Better, but still incomplete. Thingness is achieved through not non-being.”
You need to stop taking philosophy courses. Philosophical thought is a pernicious modality, and it weasels into your common sense.
“Do you often lecture women in bikinis?”
Weirdly often, yeah.
“Awesome, stud. Listen, buzz off: my boyfriend is here.”
Right, sure. Some sweaty LottenLumpen with a handful of balloons, or a tweaked-out fat guy, or maybe the Angel of Death. What is it this time, huh?
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“My boyfriend is perfectly normal.”
“Yes. I’m dating the iconic photo of Elian Gonzalez being extracted at gunpoint from his relatives’ Miami home.”
“THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT HAS THE CHILD’S BEST INTERESTS AT HEART! IS CHRIS ROBINSON STILL ON?”
I don’t understand this.
“SAVE SOME OF THAT LEG FOR ME, BABY!”
That’s it, no more.