I can’t talk about it.

You can’t or you won’t?

You know what I mean.

How is this going to work?

I don’t know.

How can you say that?

I don’t know.

Well, I have something to say, and I wasn’t going to say it.

Why not?

I don’t want to hurt you.

You can’t hurt me.

Yes I can.

I dare you.

I don’t want to.

Yes you do.

You don’t even care.

No, I really don’t.

Maybe that’s it then.

What’s it?

It’s over.


Aren’t you going to fight for me?

What for? I’m a pacifist. You call yourself a fighter?

Don’t you think I can fight for you?

I don’t think so. Also, I don’t care.

I’m seeing George.



George is a guy.

I know.



I saw George last week.

Not the way I saw him.

That’s debatable.

Let’s ask him.


George, do you see her the same way you see me?


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Dawn of Crack

I’m not going.

Go get it already. I need it.

I’m sick of this.

My class starts in five minutes. I don’t have time.

It’s hot and I’m sick of running around for you.

But I’m tired.

No, you’re not.

Go get my whip!

I’m not waking up at the a**crack of dawn every week if you’re going to treat me like s**t.


Now get your a** out there and beat that little girl with the ponytails.

But I’m too tired.

You’re not tired.

I need you to get my whip.

I need you to win.

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Club Feline

You don’t care.

Yes I do.

About what?

I care about hella stuff.


What should we do now?

I don’t care. I’m hella relaxed.

It’s wicked sunny.

Yeah, dude.

We should chill.

Chill hella hard.

Then do something.


You want a sip?

What is that?

I don’t know. It’s wicked good.

It’s hella good. Honey blossom milk or whatever.

They brought it out for us.

I didn’t even notice.

I fell asleep for a second.

Great service.

They probably want us to “like” them or whatever.

I don’t care.

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Required Reading

I’m so glad I found this on the shelf. I’ve been wondering…

…Jem broke his arm at age thirteen and we had a neighbor who never came out of his house.

Who is this girl? Or boy, or whatever.

…Jem and I befriended a boy named Dill who visited Maycomb to stay with his aunt each summer.

Great, a story about children.

…We were all really scared of our reclusive neighbor.

This is so creepy. I like it.

…Nobody in Maycomb would talk about our neighbor, and we children would fantasize about him and try to lure him out of his house.

This is making me uncomfortable. Why do they have to be children?

…The neighbor started leaving us little presents in a tree outside his house.

He’s luring them into his house. I get it.

…The neighbor made gestures of affection toward us children, but never appeared in person.

Whoa—I may need to cough up a hairball.

…Our dad was a lawyer, and he defended an African American man falsely accused of raping a young Caucasian American woman.

I see where this is going, I guess. Oh—the Great Depression—right.

…The father of the woman was racist and evil. The woman evidently made sexual advances toward the falsely accused rapist and lied about it. But the court still convicted the African American man. He was shot.

Ugh—the south.

…The racist father attacked Jem and me. That’s when Jem broke his arm. Our reclusive neighbor came to the rescue, took care of the racist father and carried us home.

I did not see that coming. Maybe I did.

…The neighbor disappeared again. I wondered what life would be like from his perspective. We should have repaid him for all the gifts.

Enough about the gifts. What about the bird killing instructions?

…The End.

Wait, so, when were you going to explain how to kill birds? Seriously?


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Having Said That…

…you’ve come a long way since your freak boating incident.

…maybe you don’t need Al-Anon this week.

…you’re going to need a lawyer for this one.

…maybe you should see a doctor too.

…we’re all winners, in a way.

…there’s always next time.

…you might want start looking for a new job.

…being in debt can be constructive.

…I’m going to need you to pay this time.

…you look great tonight.

…you do look good in baggy jeans.

…you don’t sound like you’re from Newark.

…Newark can be nice in the fall.

…you might make it in Hollywood, but—

…I also think you’d do well in the Midwest.

…you should totally move back in with your parents.

…I still like your parents.

…I’m not trying to embarrass you or your parents.

…I really don’t like your siblings.

…I just can’t afford to be seen with your family anymore.

…it’s fine if you need more time to heal or breathe or whatever.

…you’re probably still feeling symptoms from the freak boating incident.

…we can still be friends.

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I’m not trying to be critical.

You’re being very critical.

It’s my job.

It’s your job to be constructive.

This isn’t art class, pal.

What am I doing wrong?

You did the whole thing wrong.

Are you serious?

Look at Tommy’s. Look at the angle.

What’s wrong with Tommy’s?

Nothing’s wrong. I want you to angle it like Tommy’s.

Well, I’m sorry I’m not perfect like Tommy.

Are you kidding? It has to be perfect.

Alright. I’ll try again.

You’d better.

I just think you’re being overly critical.

This isn’t about being critical.

Yes it is.

No. It’s about life and death.

What are you saying?

I’m saying, if you don’t do it like Tommy, we could die.

Alright. I’ll get it perfect this time.

Yes. You will. Otherwise we’re all going to die.

Fine. Relax.

I’m totally relaxed.

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No way! I can’t believe you got out! Listen to this one, seriously. This guy comes in dressed in a gorgeous Prada suit, comes over to look at us and he’s all, “Oh-my-gosh I can’t decide,” and we’re all, “We’re not just a bunch of hallmark cards or made-in-china toys. I mean, you don’t just choose one. You’re supposed to have a connection with one of us, like one-true-love or whatever.” So he’s getting all touchy-feely and oochy-goochy-goo with Georgie Boy, and all of a sudden, Georgie Boy wets himself. He sprays it all over the guy, who proceeds to freak out like my ex-trainer—oh-my-gosh—do not let me forget to tell you another crazy story about my ex before you go. I used to be nothing but trouble. Anyway, the guy’s spazzing out, yelling at the staff, yelling at Rhoda, giving Gonzo dirty looks. And we’re all standing around like, “Haven’t you ever picked up a nervous dog before?” Poor Georgie Boy knows he’s just ruined his last chance of getting out of this place—we all know what they do with the unfavorable ones. The guy storms off, comes back after twenty minutes—or like three hours—new suit—Giorgio—fresh smile, apologies all around. Everybody’s all forgiveness and cheerful and hopeful and Obama and everything’s cool. The guy comes by, looks us over, reaches down and picks up Fred! He’s all, “Come here, cutie-pie, you are just a cute little puppy and I forgive you.” We’re all barking and barking and pointing our paws at Georgie Boy, who’s howling and whining in the corner. The guy pays for Fred and walks out. Georgie Boy’s destroyed. He’s crushed. But, you know, there’s a lesson here.

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You know that show on the naughty channel?

No ma’am.

The one with the confessions?

No ma’am.

They have little surveillance cameras.

I don’t know it, ma’am.

Don’t you watch TV when you get home late?

I do sometimes.

They show people being naughty in the back of a taxi cab.

In a taxi cab?

Then they talk to the driver.

What do they talk to the driver about?

They confess their dirty little secrets.

To the cab driver?

Just like I talk to you, Bruce.

What does the driver do?

He listens and talks and stuff.

Does the driver ever get involved?

How do you mean, Bruce?

Is he involved, I mean, with their naughty stuff?

Of course he’s involved. He’s driving the cab.

Do they sit in the back?

Not always.

What’s the show called?

Something “Confessions.”

Taxi Cab Confessions?

I don’t remember.

Do you enjoy that show, ma’am?

I do, Bruce. I watch it every Friday night.

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Don’t Flap Me

Whoa. Stop.

Come on, let’s do it again.

Don’t flap me here.

This is my place.

This is not your place. This is my place.

This is my moment.

I shall not be flapped. Not today, not now.

Quiet down, and sit straight in the saddle.

Do what I say.

Go where I go.

Follow my commands.

Follow your quemmands?

I demand you walk this way.

I’m not walking that way.

Do not flap me.

I’m not doing that.

I shall whip you if you disobey.

Is that a threat? How old are you?

I am a confident, proud, mindful human being.

What are you trying to prove?

And I am unflappable.

This isn’t fun anymore.

Faster now. Jump those beams.

What? Where?

Jump! Now!

Whoa. That felt good.

Good. Slow down.

No way. This is my moment.

I said slow down. This is my moment!

Are you sure? What about all the other beams we could jump?

Do not flap me!

That one there?

Whoa! Stop!

Hold on, I really want to do this.

I said stop! Stop!

One more. One more.

I am becoming unflapped!

unflap. unflap. unflap. Wheee!

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Not So Real

They look so real.

They’re not real, baby.

They look real.

They’re fake, baby.

I don’t believe you.

You don’t have to, but I think they’re fake.

Look how big they are.

I know, baby, they’re huge.

I didn’t know they could get that big.

They sure do.

Don’t you wish mine were that big?

I love yours the way they are, baby. Don’t even worry about it.

Well, now I’m worried.

I said, don’t worry about it.

You seem so excited to see them that big, and your telling me not to worry always makes me worry more.

I love yours more than anybody’s.

I can make mine larger.

Don’t, baby. I love them the way they are: natural.

But don’t you want to win?

I don’t even care about winning, baby.

Well, I do.

I know you do, but I don’t. All I care about is you, our home, our garden and keeping everything natural, the way God intended.

This place is crazy. I miss the farm already.

Let’s go now so we can beat traffic.

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