Throwing Poo

Well, we definitely punched our tickets to Hell last night. Nerdy Squirrel and I were lying in bed reading and having one of our typical, end-of-the-day conversations.  Conversation is the wrong word.  It is actually a series of fragmented comments completely lacking in context.  It’s like we are casually brainstorming for a discussion topic and when one of us finally responds to the other, we’ve found it.  An example of this would be: 

NS:  If Max and George (our cats) were writers, Max would be Hemingway and George would be would be Fitzgerald.

CBC:  I think I’ve figured out a way to murder my boss and get away with it. 

NS:  Maybe grape leaves would be a good dish to bring.

CBC:  I know you’ve been moving my Netflix selections to the bottom of the queue and I want you to stop it. 

NS:  I’m not sure my flax seed is working.

CBC:  Come to think of it, I don’t remember eating any corn in the last couple of days. 

NS:  I feel so bloated. 

CBC:  Do you need to “make a movie”? 

NS:  A blockbuster.

CBC: I saw a young guy at the airport yesterday with no arms and no legs.

NS: Oh, that’s awful. 

CBC: Yeah.  I wondered if he was a veteran. 

NS:  Probably.  What was he doing?

CBC:  Well, (pause) not much. 

We break into fits of the uncontrollable, we-are-going-to-burn-in-hell kind of forbidden laughter. After a few minutes we settle down into silence.

CBC: He blinked a few times.

NS: We must never speak of this.

CBC: Agreed.  

Thank God for literal translations.