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Coiffed hair, soft lips, firm jaw. Dumb as a fence, this guy, a real ding-dong, he’s like a . . . a human Applebee’s.
“Are you done? Can we talk now?” She sighs. “Sure.” He opens his mouth to speak— And she punches it— A burst of static in her head like a radio turned to a nowhere station, bits of voices garbled by the noise. —his head rocks back and she knows she should be seizing this opportunity to mow over him, clambering her way to the door.
I’m a Disney princess, tra-la-la, getting up every morning with songbirds helping me put on my clothes.” And suddenly she realizes out loud: “Wait, I could actually do that. This changes everything.”
“I want to fuck this coffee.” “You should probably let it cool down first.”
“I just told you I’m a psychic who can see how people are going to die and I’m impregnated by a dude who got shot in the head. You rolled with the punches on that one, so I kinda feel like I should be cool with whoever you are and whoever you wanna be.”
He pauses. “I think a lot about poop,” he says, earnestly. “Oh my god, me too. We all poop. It’s one of life’s unifying bonds. Frankly, I think it’s weird when people don’t think about poop.” “Right?!”
“The burger’s not good, Steve. The burger is the kind of burger that could start a war. Or end one. This burger might be the one good thing God above has given us, or it might be the most tempting artifact dangled before us by the Devil himself. This burger would be the thing I would give to an extraterrestrial invader to prove that we were worthy not only of saving, but of uplifting to a greater state of cosmic evolution. This is no mere burger, Steve, nor is it merely good. It is awesome in the truest sense of that word.”
