Car conversation with Victor and I:
me: HOLY SHITBALLS! DID YOU JUST SEE THAT SIGN?!
Victor: Was it the one telling passengers not to scream “Holy shitballs” while the driver is trying to concentrate?
me: TURN AROUND. TURN AROUND RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
me: Because I think that sign just said that Tim Minchin is playing at that honky-tonk bar.
me: TURNAROUND, TURNAROUND, TURNAROUND.
Victor: Jesus. Calm down.
me: What? Who the fuck is Tim Mitchum?
Victor: The guy you’re apparently freaking out about.
me: No, I thought it said Tim Minchin.
Victor: Who the fuck is Tim Minchin?
me: I want a divorce.
Victor: No seriously, what’s your problem?
me: My problem is that I thought one of my favorite people of all time was going to be performing down the street and now my hopes are dashed.
me: Get me some gasoline. I want to burn this place down.
Victor: You might be overreacting.
me: And then I’m going to salt the earth so nothing will ever grown here again.
Victor: Never mind. Perfectly normal.
me: You don’t understand. It’s like winning a free trip to the North Pole, but then you get there and you find out Santa is dead.
me: And you try to tell yourself to buck up because at least you’ll get to say your last respects to Santa but when you lean over him in his coffin he grabs you and eats your face off.
me: Because he’s a zombie. Santa is a zombie. And now you are too.
Victor: Stop talking.
me: And that’s like the WORST place to be a zombie because your decaying body will freeze if you go outside and nothing lives there except elves so it’s like eating tater tots all the time.
me: Because they’re little. Not because elves taste like potatoes.
Victor: I got that.
me: I have no idea what elves taste like. Probably like Eskimo Pies. With bones in them.
Victor: That divorce thing still up for grabs?
me: I blame this whole thing on Tim Mitchum.
PS. For those of you who don’t know the glory of Tim Minchin: