Write it. Just do it. It’s not so hard.
Yes it is. I’m tired of this stuff.
You can do this. You’ve been doing it for years now. Just do it.
That was almost convincing, but then you sounded like a Nike ad.
Fair enough. But you have been doing this for awhile now. Hey! Remember those black canvas Vans you used to have? Those were great. You should get some more.
A classic shoe really. Good times. Stop distracting me. You’re supposed to be helping me work. You know writing that thing?
Sorry, yeah. You should write that up. You’ve done all the other work. You just need to sit down and crank the mother out.
Ooh funky! P-Funky. like turn the mother out? Give Up the Funk. That’s another classic.
Can you stop making inane pop cultural references and just listen to what I’m saying? Stay focused. Work. Remember that? You need to write that thing about all that stuff? Sound familiar? Or are you just going to keep babbling about random things? Although, you have a point, I have P-Funk blasting on my side of things now too. Good tune.
Really? Cause I just switched to the JB’s…still funky though.
Anyway, look, we need to stop all this nonsense and just get writing. And FYI you need stop consuming scotcholate, stop watching so much tv, and don’t ever give me that decaf shit again.
Hey! That was a freaky accident. I did not purposefully make decaf coffee and it hurt me too you know!
Pass me a peanut-butter cup.
It just seems boring. I think it could be really good though. I’ve been working on this stuff for a long time. But, ugh, and don’t go imposing all your rigid crap on me. Don’t impose a schedule and daily page limits on me. I hate that. It’s so cumbersome. You’re such a tight ass.
That’s cause it works! You’ll do it. You can’t stand missing a deadline. Or at least you think you can’t stand it because you’ve never actually missed one. Have you? See. You’re a punctual motherfucker. Admit it.
Yeah maybe. Join me for a drink?
You idiot, just give me the drink. I’ll grant you 48 hours and after that if I don’t see some real progress you’re going on lockdown. I mean scheduled working hours with daily page limits.
Fuck. 48 hours? When would it start? Can we agree on 48 hours starting tomorrow morning?
Yeah. I’m too full of scotcholate to start right now anyway.
OK cool. Is it time for Lost yet?
Peanut-butter cups, scotcholate and Lost? I'll be right over.
ReplyDeleteExactly!
ReplyDeleteGood field recon on this reclusive species!
Get out of my head!! Both of you! It's really rude to eavesdrop.
ReplyDeleteHey, one of you is stalking me: that's exactly what I did last night (peanut butter easter eggs, scotch and Lost!).
ReplyDeleteSo, wanna date?
Sure. Want a Guinness?
ReplyDelete(did anyone else want Sawyer to leave the beer NOT the flower last night?)
Professor musk - an alluring mix of fresh tweed (irresistible), leather patches and book binding solubilized in scotch. Applied liberally it will reduce most social interactions except those that involve lengthy pontification.
ReplyDeleteWho would the model for this be? Who would be holding the bottle at the centerfold of select journals with wind blowing in their hair and clad in only a tweed thong?
Dear god! That's what that thing is on my head! You've been recording my thoughts, right down to the peanut butter cup, the Nike and "turn the mother out" references, and countdown to Lost. I feel so exposed!
ReplyDelete*guffaw* "scotcholate"!!!!
ReplyDelete*Ahem* Please look for my forthcoming publication: the above-referenced centerfold "article" featuring yours truly, in a tweed thong WITH a leather patch! (It's under consideration at this moment.)
ReplyDelete