Are you presenting me with randos?
“Look at this one’s haircut.”
Is his name Rocka Billy?
“I got no idea. Naming randos gives them power.”
“These new randos are a different breed, though. I was used to teenage girls and frat boys.”
“Dead randos come bearing gifts, man.”
Oh, yeah. Brass ring for a Dead rando is to give a Grateful Dead something. They been giving you weed?
“Do you know what a Dragon Ball is?”
“No. It’s six pounds of 99% pure cannabis extract the size and shape of a small cannonball.”
I would like one of those.
“I have, like, nine.”
I could give you my address, and pay for the shipping.
“Pulled into a gas station in the Earthroamer in between Cincinnati and Camden, and two randos got in a fistfight over which one was going to pay for me.”
These are terrible problems, and I feel for you.
“Yeah, right: it’s not the worst.”
What kind of app is it?
“How do you know about the app? You shouldn’t know about that.”
Is it like the Kardashian apps, where you guide virtual John Meyer through his rocking day, accumulating points for soloing and wearing clothes, while enjoying a full array of in-game purchase opportunities?
“Seriously, how do you–”
Is it like Snapchat, but food-based? Is it Snackchat, John?
“I need to make some calls.”
Okee dokee, artichokee.