Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Buuummmm.”
Don’t do that.
“BUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMM!”
Stop it.
“BUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMM!”
Dude.
“BWAH-PAH!”
Last warning.
“Bum-pum bum-pum bum-pum.”
…
You done?
“Hey, suck my shine, muchacho. If you had a theme song that awesome, you wouldn’t go anywhere without playing it. I got, like, top-three theme music. Darth Vader, Shaft, and me.”
Whatever. Could you fuck off, please? We are all full up on crazy right now.
“Oh, sure. No problem. Sorry to be a bother. Could you just do one thing for me?”
What?
“Place your hand ‘pon my surface.”
I’m not falling for that again.
“Doesn’t have to be your hand. You can french me.”
I don’t wanna french you.
“Know my secrets! French me!”
You have no secrets. You are not an impossibly ancient alien artifact.
“Stargate, bro. Come lay your hands on me while thinking about your backstory.”
You were made by a guy with a weird sense of humor, access to a machine shop, and a truck.
“Nah.”
…
“Stargate.”
I hate this year so much.
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