Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Giving Stripey here a try.”
Please stop turning your clothing into characters.
“Well, you know: they have feelings, too.”
They don’t.
“Besides, I’m paying tribute to Prince. So young.”
Bobby, you’re in 1987.
“Sure, sure, but there’s a Thai place that’s gonna open up down the road from me in 2016, so I like to pop in for takeout.”
Goddammit, stop using the Time Sheath to get lunch.
“Dinner, too.”
All meals. Eat in your own reality.
“It’s ’87, man. Everything’s fusion bullshit now.”
Just don’t.
“Probably gonna keep doing it. Hey, why are ducks singing about us?”
…
Drake.
“Boy duck, girl duck, whatever.”
It’s a person.
“Ducks are people in 2016? Not at the Thai place. They’ll kill one right in front of you.”
No, Bobby. Drake is a person. Well, he’s a Canadian.
“That counts.”
Legally. And he’s a rapper.
“Like Kool Moe Dee?’
Kind of.
“Kool Moe Dee is not related to Rick Dees. You know: the deejay? I found that out the hard way.”
I am not pursuing that.
“So, this Drake fellow. Big time guy?”
Famous as shit.
“Good for him. Music industry is tough on Canadian ducks.”
Not a duck.
“Does he have a human beatbox? I like that routine.”
I dug that act, too, but I don’t think Drake has one.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me: if Mickey asks if you want to see his human beatbox routine, say no.”
Does Mickey just–
“Beats humans with a box.”
–beat humans..sure, yeah.
“Is the duck gonna show up?”
Haven’t decided yet.
“Just lemme know.”
Gotcha.
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