You know what I like?
"Witty Plastic Concept Toys, rationalizing the ease with which you abandon your dreams and a style of music called... 'twee pop' is it?"
Someone's been taking their nasty pills.
"Well, I had time to write them. Not doing much else. How about you, did you write today?"
I... not really, write, exactly. I wrote down some new ideas while I was at a stoplight, on the way to work... and I edited a short I wrote a few weeks ago.
"Ah, editing. Is that what you call it when you're too lazy to make an emotional investment in creating something that has the possibility of being imperfect?"
Well... no, I mean... I have to edit things, it's how I refine... anyway, what's your frickin' problem?
"Oh, nothing, nothing. So, tell me... what do you like?"
Ah... well, I was going to tell you about Utilitarian collections, but you're being kind of an asshole, so I think I'd rather not discuss it with you.
"That's cool, I'd probably just find a way to make you feel bad about spending money on a hobby when you're obviously unproductive."
Slow and steady, my friend.
"Slow and TV more like it."
I've been getting back into Star Trek, so freakin' sue me.
"Wonderful... Star Trek, collecting pens and old keyboards... bet you drink Belgian beer, too."
Delirium Tremens is pretty tasty but... what does that have to do with...
"You're not just a nerd anymore, man, you're about one step shy of being a shut-in coke bottle glasses ultra nerdy-dork-dorky-nerd-geek-goober-freak-trekkie. You should pre-buy a ticket for the Forklift ride. It will save time when they are all knocking a wall out of your bedroom to haul your ass to the hospital for your stomach staple."
Trekker is the preferred terminology, actually. Hey, that reminds me... do you remember that TV show "Nowhere man"? It was on the Sci Fi channel? I think he was pretending to be a pizza guy in one episode and had to, like, rescue some skinny hacker dork who was so addicted to bulletin boards that he never left his basement and was all emaciated and atrophied and wearing footie pajamas or something. Maybe it was porn he was all cracked out on, actually... I can't remember. Either way, he was shivering like a diabetic chihuahua and Nowhere Man had to help him shotgun a Capri Sun.
"I can't stand you."
Maybe your standards are too high?
"Maybe. Still wanna go to Borders later?"
Oh HELL yes. Books are sweet.
"Hells yes they are. Also, magazines."
