Sgt Lucky: (Looking at my foot.) Oh my God. Are you all right?
Me: Yeah. It’s just my gross plantar’s wart. Remember? I made you buy the medicine for me and pretend to have the wart yourself. Just like when I wanted to read Twilight and I didn’t want to buy it so I made you buy it for me.
Sgt Lucky: Jesus. What’s wrong with it? It looks gross.
Me: It’s dying. I treated it, and now it’s gonna fall off.
Sgt Lucky: That’s … that’s disgusting.
Me: Ha, ha! You wanna throw up now. I win.
Sgt Lucky: I mean, I can deal with a lot of shit. But I don’t like holes, for no reason. No. That’s not OK.
Sgt Lucky: No! Don’t do it. You’re going to do it again. Just like when we were at the bookstore, and you wouldn’t stop telling me about … what were you telling me about?
Me: I have no idea, honestly. I don’t even think that was me.
Sgt Lucky: It was you. What did you say?
Me: I think it was some other fast little article.
Sgt Lucky: It was too horrible. I don’t even remember. (Pause.) My taint itches.
Sgt Lucky: Am I distracting you? Am I bothering you while you type and blog?
Sgt Lucky: Is my love disturbing you? Is it keeping you from getting your work done? I have a beam of love for you. It’s shooting out of my head. Did I get love in your eye? (Uproarious laughter.)
I’d confiscate the whiskey. But this way, I watch less TV.