There’s three more shows, Phil. Not two.
“Peace sign, jackass.”
You get the chicken or the fish?
“Short flight, jackass.”
Turkey wrap?
“Turkey wrap.”
…
“Jackass.”
Y’know, Phil, I’m really good at reading vibes and telling how people feel towards me, so I’ll just come right out and say it: we are on the best of terms currently.
“Got a lotta bullshit to deal with. Have you met this Internet?”
Yes, everyone’s terrible.
“Everyone?”
For some reason, I heard you say that in a pointed and accusatory tone.
“Yeah?”
…
Phil, I can’t live with you being mad at me. How’s this: I come backstage in Chicago, we hug it out like the Bro-Re-Mi’s that we are, and then I do some damage to the craft services table?
“Pass.”
Are you in the market for a Benjy?
“Hard pass.”
“Sir, I’m going to need you to go back to your seat. The captain has turned on the ‘Stop Bothering Rock Stars’ sign.”
I’m going.
…
Phil?
“What is it?”
You reading your SkyMall?
“Here.”
Thanks. I’m gonna buy you a wireless mouse shaped like an Aston Martin.
“Do no such thing.”
…
Because you–
“Stewardess!”
–like cars. Okay, I’m leaving.
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