Friday, January 29, 2016

A Brief Conversation with My Mustache, 1

Me: "Got enough room there, buddy?"

Wyatt: "Ain't my fault your face is shrinking."

Me: "No, seriously, you're a lot bigger than you used to be."

Wyatt: "You're imagining things."

Wyatt: "Oops. 'Scuse me, I gotta take this. Hey there, Lance, my man. What's the word?"

Wyatt: "Dude, you're killin' me. I'm running low. ... Aw, don't give me that shit, man. It ain't like you're competing anymore."

Wyatt: "Who? Seriously? No, I already tried him, got nowhere. Asshole accused me of being from Al Jazeera. Who else do you know that might have some?"

Wyatt: "Uh, hang on a second. ... Dude, do ya mind? This is a private conversation."

Me: "You live on my face."

Wyatt: "Yeah? Well mind your own damn business or I'll rearrange it."

3 comments:

  1. " I kilt him your honor. I kilt him dead as stone because he made it harder to eat hotdogs and tacos. "

    " Kilt is not a verb. It's something Soctsmen hide their balls behind."

    " Well, you're the judge your honor."

    " You were right about that 'fishing in a mall fountain thing' by the way. "

    " That's a relief. I'd have hate to have been wrong on something like that."

    ReplyDelete
  2. What do you mean there's no such thing as mustache insurance? I want to talk to the regional manager.

    ReplyDelete
  3. "What do you mean it's a pre-existing condition? Ain't you heard of Obamacare?"

    ReplyDelete