“If I gotta watch this motherfucker play Candy Crush one more time…”
“Josh showed this to me. It’s called Snapchat. I have no idea what the hell it is, but I have 30,000 followers.”
“I don’t wanna selfie, Bob.”
“Only two of us here, and you’re the asshole, so you must be the asshole, asshole.”
Red Metal Stool?
“THOUGHT I WAS DEAD, DID YA?”
Oh, settle down.
“I’m in the system, jackass. I got tenure. They get rid of Chimenti before they get rid of me.”
“They can’t fire me. I know things. Thiiiiings.”
Yeah, yeah. Congratulations on making it to the tour.
“I’M THE HEADLINER, FATHERSUCKER.”
Ew. You’re awful.
“You dropped me, man! Where have I been?”
You never really caught on. Someone in the Comment Section called you Scrappy-Doo.
“Which one? I want a name.”
“Was it one of the Canadians?
I’m not saying.
“Let me back in.”
“Your little fan-fiction.”
IT IS NOT–
“Sure, right. Lemme back in. I could be a recurring character.”
Dude, you’re a red metal stool and your name is Red Metal Stool. There’s not much to work with.
“You could flesh me out.”
You have no flesh. There’s just not much to you.
“Precarious Lee started as a pun!”
I started in my father’s balls. From lowly origins, etc.
“What about the Wall of Sound? That’s a pile of speakers, for fuck’s sake, and it’s on t-shirts!”
LEAVE ME OUT OF YOUR WHINING.
“Can he hear us?”
He can hear everything. Stop bothering me, or I’ll take away your name. You’ll just be the red metal stool.
“You wouldn’t do that.”
And delete all the posts with you in it.
“What? Jesus, man.”
I’ll wish you away to the cornfield.
“You’re fucked. Y’know that, man? You’re fucked.”
Ah, I’m sorry. I’m cranky.
“Well, still: that was a terrible thing to say.”
Yeah, but you’re a stool that doesn’t exist and I’m just working some shit out here, y’know?
“I can understand that.”
“No. Fuck you.”