Tag: Chris Robinson

You’re done with the La Croix, huh?

“I, uh, don’t need your commentary on my drinking hobby.”

Habit.

“They’re virtually the same word if you have a speech impediment.”

That’s not a metric we judge vocabulary on.

“You play your game; I’ll play mine.”

You ever think of getting any tattoos?

“Sure, yeah. I was gonna get a big swastika on my chest. But, uh then I remembered that I wasn’t a Nazi.”

No.

“Or a Buddhist.”

You’re close.

“Yeah. I’m Buddhish. I was thinking about maybe an eagle on my face.”

Do not get a tattoo of an eagle on your face, Bobby.

“It would really up my Soundcloud clout.”

Bad idea.

“Maybe some pot leafs on my cheeks.”

Are we still talking about your face?

“I think so.”

Don’t do it. Whenever I see someone with tats, I wonder what they’ll look like when they’re 70.

“Well, uh, that was last year for me.”

Oh, right. Get all the ink you want.

“Sweet.”

Bobby. Buddy. I want you to concentrate on your cheeks. The muscles in there. Pull them upwards.

“My smile isn’t free.”

Fine, I’ll pay.

“You don’t have enough cash.”

True. What’s going on here?

“I think this is my uncle.”

Nope.

“Elderly cousin?”

Nuh-uh.

“Do I have an older brother?”

You don’t. That’s Chris Robinson, and he is 20 years your junior.

“You’re, uh, shitting me.”

Swear to God.

“Huh.”

What’s in the La Croix?

“Straight tequila.”

Sure.