National Poetry Month Day 1 - Morning Dew, Morning Dew

We woke up racist in a room of naked Shawns
Declaring Chaucer on a thousand vacant lawns
We make our fortune on the porch where madness dawns
Bite bite each other contrite
God scattered fossils from a box of unknown height
Breakfast of Champions for the vigilant uptight
We figure out their useful life by sight
Starlight is new blue light vibrations tender
Desire, crouching, makes the moon a public defender
We grew agnostic when succumbing to the flirts
Jesus is overweight and out of medium shirts
We hurt inside, we have a mind of severed squirts
Puddles forming bubbles
Bubbles racing language
Certain our meaning will leave us dead or stranded
We pump our own clouds, then all emerge empty handed

Existential Insult Comic

Sex and the nature of mortality can be a source of pleasure, but for you they're a source of relentless anxiety and occasional bitter laughter.

Everything you will ever accomplish is really just because of a parasite that lives in you and is hungry for achievement and validation. Achievement and validation only exist because other people with parasites make them exist.

Your need to impose your identity on everyone you meet has isolated you almost incurably. You know how when you're having sex with someone, you wish you were having sex with someone? And you think, "I'm just decadent! Like when I light one cigarette, then I light another one before the first one is even done"? Well, the person you wish you were having sex with is yourself; you've just forgotten how to recognize them.

During high school you were awkward and unpopular, but you knew you would have a bright future. Now you feel like you peaked in high school. That 90's nostalgia is in vogue does not help.

The tyranny of all your opinions and preferences imprisons you and feeds you just enough to keep you alive but not very coherent. They are decals on the train you ride that is full of unremarkable people all judging each other as inferior using slightly different versions of the same criteria.

All of your love affairs are a ruse. Any happiness you felt was because you were gas lighting yourself.

There was a correct path your life could have taken that would have lead to happiness, but you diverted from it long ago, and your attempts to compensate have been disastrous.

Time is escaping you like water escaping through cracks of aging, and with the water pours out personal secrets you wanted to keep. Everyone knows them now, but you think they are still secrets, and eventually you will drown in not enough understanding.

At your funeral, people will be having inaccurate thoughts about you. The rest of their thoughts will be about food and sexual conquest.

You will die regretting all the love you never got to express, and had you expressed it, it would only have caused discomfort shrouded in decorous graciousness.

The cliches found on posters and internet memes you abhor most are the ones that would have made you free to be happy.

Your limited language of pop culture references will ensure that all of your experiences are sterilized. No matter what you do or where you go, you will be insulated from transcendence. Fortunately, if you even begin to realize this and get depressed, you can always watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer reruns until it goes away.

There is at least one truth about yourself that you are engineered to never find out. You will dance around it, and maybe even approach it, but you will always be deflected and tossed back into unknowing and delusion. Like planets whirling around the sun, it will explode and engulf you before you can reach it. And this is your closest connection to the divine.

The comment section to every "50 Shades of Grey"-related article

a narcissistic sociopath. So I can't imagine anybody, having read my exhaustive deconstruction of all the abuse masquerading as acceptable intimacy in this poorly written series (complete with page numbers and screenshots), would be able to offer any rational excuse for overlooking it.

Comments (2,452)

WTF is Irony says:
Wow, you sure put a lot of effort into something you don't like. It's just a book! If you don't like it, fuckin don't read it then! It's none of your business what gets other people off. Stop telling people what their opinions should be, how to express themselves, and how to live their life. I think people should keep their opinions to themselves. #idon'tneedfeminism,  #IfThisListWasAccurateItWouldBeHundredsAndHundredsofThisPerson

CaptainFairness says:
Clearly your personal experience as an abuse survivor has influenced your opinion. I think your personal bias should exclude you from the conversation. Sorry you had to deal with that though. Stay strong! #goodperson

TheDude7 says:
I mean, he may be abusive and manipulative and all, but at least he owns it! Y'know what I mean?
      NedBlanders says:
      No actually I don't, could you please elaborate?
            TheDude7 says: 
            You know! Like, when someone is an awful person and they know it, but they like, keep being awful anyway, that makes it OK, right? Because they own it! ... Huh, now that I wrote it out, I realize how little sense that makes. Why do people say that? I know I said it because I didn't want to actually examine my opinion but... Wait... Fuck! All of my friends are racist! I'm gonna go kick their asses then move to another city.

GoodMan2 says:
Yes! This! I am in the middle of trying to save a woman who is with a real life "Christian Grey". She left me for a wealthy professional who is very handsome and regularly takes her on "vacation" to Europe (clearly to get her away from her family and friends). According to mutual friends, they have really amazing sex, too. Poor thing has no idea that she's a victim of abuse. And he gets really upset whenever she is seen with me. I just happen to run into her sometimes at the coffeeshop she goes to every morning before work (he helped get her a job at his friend's successful startup... controlling much?!?!), and he went with her one day and was very rude to me. Very territorial! I'm even beginning to suspect that he has brainwashed her to dislike me, because (read more)

FlowerLuvins says:
Ugh, I agree! I couldn't get through the first book, it was just all of the unhealthy. People! Sex shouldn't hurt! And then, like, he tells her not to cum at some point. That's not cool! Not what sex is about! Doesn't he care about her pleasure? Sounds like just another selfish pig. She needs to get away from that negative energy or it's gonna bring her down.

AlarmedUndergrad says:
I am a psychology major, and I read this and thought "Hmmm interesting". I definitely agree that everything Ana goes through will be psychologically scarring. Most of the people reading don't realize that she has low self-esteem, and he takes advantage of that. It's scary how many of my friends just don't get it, and they are ALL ABOUT this series. I have explained, in legitimate clinical terms, how it is warping their development as young adults, but for some reason that doesn't change their minds. I am putting together some sociological data to show them, let me know if you come across anything.

RedPillLinux says:
Aww, what's the matter? Nobody pay attention to you because you got dumped by an alpha and put on all that weight? Looks like someone's been on the carousel too long and has nothing to show for it. Don't worry, I'm sure some beta will take on your loose meat.
   (1589 replies)

RighteousWhiteous says:
Ok, i get that he's manipulative and stalks her entire life, and it sucks for her, but I don't think it's sexist. Feminists need to stop making it about them because #notallmen are Christian Grey. It's just one story, and the genders could easily be switched. Why isn't anybody analyzing it from that perspective? #reversesexismmuch?

AsianSexTouristGalt says:
I'm gonna pop some bubbles, be the unpopular voice of reason here and point out the obvious: she clearly gets what she wants out of this. He buys her the expensive stuff all women crave, takes care of her... oh, and then there's the earth-shattering orgasms he delivers with his huge "penis endowment" (so to speak), she seems OK with that. Obviously you male haters have never seen a woman tremble beneath you because you gave her permission to. For up to half an hour. It takes a while to get to that point, and most men are just grateful they can last 5 minutes then go to sleep. I'm just being honest here, so if you don't like the truth, go back to your comfortable lies, I don't have time for you. I guess I'm a feminist in some ways, because I believe women should have AT LEAST as many orgasms as her partner, probably more. In my experience, definitely more. Maybe you're just dissatisfied with the sex you've had, or if your a guy your probably insecure. Hey, sometimes the truth is hard to take, but there's no avoiding it. Sometimes, a woman needs to feel a little owned. Deep down, she wants her man to challenge her decisions. It shows that he cares about her, and that he'd fuck up anyone who messes with her, no matter where she goes. And it makes the relationship more rewarding for him, too. It's just biology, we can't avoid it.

365Conscious says:
Of course, WESTERN medicine only recently "decided" that BDSM isn't a diagnosable disorder. I mean (read more)

PleaseHelpMe says:
Please don't be angry at me, but I really liked the book. You just have to read between the lines, ok? I think Ana totally knows what she's doing. I mean, yeah she suffers a bit, OK a lot, but in the end he definitely changes. Or at least, he is clearly on the road to being approachable, and she'll be able to get over her emotional trauma because she's strong, and she'll finally (gently, gradually) confront him, you just have to read between the lines. I mean, I'm pretty sure the sex is good, why else would she keep coming back?

MissyBee says:
Thank you for writing this! Every sentence was like "Yes!" I went through something like this once... never again!
  DevilsAdvocado says:
  Just to play "devil's advocate", if you will, I mean, doesn't she have free will?
    MissyBee says: 
    But he manipulates her! He knows exactly what he's doing. For example, when he totally shuts down emotionally and makes her (read more)
      MmmmYeah,LikeThat says:
      Well yeah, he's abusive and manipulative, but she perseveres and eventually he changes. Sounds fine to me!
        MissyBee says:
        Except he doesn't "change"! She just learns how to work around his sociopathy, which is different because (read more)
           OoooooohFuckYeahKeepDoingThat says:
           I don't know though, maybe she was asking for it a little bit? I mean, she never said the safe word, but she could have...
              MissyBee says:
              ARRRRGH! But you're taking it out of context! You have to build enough trust so the sub isn't (read more)
                OhFuckOhFuckOhFuck says:
                 I mean, doesn't her arousal negate any possibility of rape?
                      MissyBee says:
                      Umm... NO! Physical arousal doesn't mean (read more)
                          OOOOOOOHHhhhhhhhMMMMmmmmmmhhmmmmMMMM says:
                          It's not like he has a gun to her head. She can leave at any time. And she does, after the first book.
                             MissyBee says:
                            (BASHING HEAD AGAINST DOOR) NO! Like I said before, in my articulate and citation-laden multi-paragraph reply above, (read more)
                                 Thanks! says:
                                 Eh, maybe. I guess we're all entitled to our opinions. Good night!

Entfernt Daily Standard Sunday Editorial: The Stachel Abomination

Using "Rick Steve's European Christmas" travel feature as a writing prompt, I challenged myself to write something without resorting to surrealism, sex, paranoia, or meta. 

Greetings, Standard readers of Entfernt! I hope your Christmases were all so merry it bordered on the depraved. Indeed I've received nothing but reports of seasonally appropriate bliss, apart of course from one incident. For countless generations, we the citizens of this charming settlement outside the Grindelwald village in the Bernese Alps, have enjoyed a festive tradition in the weeks leading to Christmas. Each year, twenty-four households are selected by committee and assigned to decorate their home for a day in the Advent calendar and prepare dinner for all the visitors. Understand, this is not an effort to hoist Christianity upon the general public¹. Rather, this is all in the spirit of service to the community. Not only does it tighten the knittedness of our village, but each serving and decorated home provides dinner for all guests, the homeless included. Almost² nobody has ever been turned away. Though I suspect a vagrant with the tenacity to land in a settlement with no roads and either a €145/day snowmobile rental or difficult 2-day hike away from the nearest train stop would be able to get a job tearing tickets somewhere. Generally, the only sort of "homeless" person who wanders here on foot is a startup millionaire between Bay Area leases who will most likely use his trip as a story to shill a performance drink or masculine crisis retreat.

But enough of that. Overall, 2014 was an exceptionally fine year. The Zwanghaft family (day 8) served 8 varieties of fondue with 8 loaves of braided bread that were each 8 feet in length. 8 feet! Did it occur to anyone to ask how they went about baking something so large? If so please write in, I'm mildly curious. The Goodpaster household (day 17) challenged us with pickled cow tongue, a rite of passage for the Goodpaster children³. In every home were found humble, earthy displays of God's messengers carved in knotty wood or dried squash, or shaped from twigs and dried grape vines, and the food was all hearty, traditional fare. Sausages, cheese and bread displayed on dark planks of elm shaped like nearby wildlife, pickled vegetables: fare that is warm and welcoming. Then there was the Stachel house, who so happened to draw number 24: Christmas Eve. Now, nobody can deny that we lead somewhat simple lives here in Entfernt. Many of us are builders or miners, while others spend their days procuring firewood or giving walking tours to vacationers. Every commute is a physically draining trek through hills of snow and often tempestuous gusts of wind. I think I speak for us all when I say that curry lentils and rice hardly nourishes to the soul, and does not represent the character of our settlement. Folks politely inquired of the ingredients and were told it was simply lentils and water with spices. So essentially, we were served a tea full of ruptured beans. When further pressed, they said some clarified butter was added for the sake of richness. If only the Griffpresse family was around, they could have learned of how their butter is in need of clarification. I had some of their chive butter on rye toast this morning and it seemed perfectly articulate to me.

How heartbreaking it was, watching children on Christmas Eve fumble with a greying brown mash that in texture and taste resembled the remnants of a potpourri cooker. My family was fortunate enough to have a hearty stew of venison and carrots left over at home, and a few people who would rather not be identified joined us with some bread and cheerful commiseration. However I imagine some families, expecting there to be an actual meal provided, may have spent Christmas eve either hungry and disappointed, or waiting for something to defrost. Indeed another anonymous family, unwilling to retire in such hunger, prepared what they thought would be a simple matter of egg, flour, and cheese, but ended up eating at an hour more fit for breakfast⁴.

Now, far be it from me to look unfondly upon diversity of experience. The Esempio family (day 14) made crepe-style cannelloni stuffed with 3 cheeses and seasoned minced beef, which I enjoyed immensely. But stuffed cannelloni is part of the Esempio family's cultural past. Perhaps redoubling my ire is the inauthenticity of the whole affair, and the cynical shallowness that we would accept their culinary appropriation without question. The Stachels have more generations here than almost anybody else. The joke is that they evolved their short legs and wide frames to steady themselves on skis and rocks! This cheap novelty comes off as phony, and it is deeply immoral that they subjected the hardworking citizens of Entfernt to an experiment that could not have possibly gone right.

While I want to commend those who tried to reduce the tension, I think it is best they learn from immediate social dissonance. One guest's comment that "Well, the himalayas are also cold and majestic" was well-intended, but thoroughly misguided. Though this is being published anonymously, I want the Stachels to know that many staff members and contributors at the Daily Standard stand behind this. That being said, my aim is not to incite a sort of passive-aggressive uprising. I just want the Stachels to know that there are people who disapprove of their behavior without adhering to those people the stigma of disapproval. Perhaps even the Advent Committee will take note of this public complaint and assume the Stachels have read it and learned their lesson, and thus be granted an opportunity to redeem themselves in the near future.

¹The general public being 94 people, 78 of whom are practicing Christians.
²There was one incident on record, in 1852. Apparently Richard Wagner says some, well say "divisive" things when he's had too much gluhwein. Legend has it that after he was removed, the remainder of the evening was spent trying to come up with one of those handy German portmanteaus for when something is "both dark and pale".
³This lack of squeamishness almost certainly explains how Neils Goodpaster moved to Brazil to be a marine biologist.
⁴Actually, it turned out quite well and may become a yearly tradition of insomnia and storytelling layered with crisp pastry for them.

The Advice Column the Guy Next to Me at Rustic Coffeeshop Read

So you're the guy sitting next to me in a small, woody coffee shop in a quaint, historic town in central New Jersey on December 28th, 2014. Apart from a haunted building or two, the town is a web of gallery-restaurants with the sort of clientele that is one tapeworm away from never leaving. You live near enough that you're on a first-name basis with the staff and local dog walkers, and you seem to have read an advice column about how to write your novel in a coffeeshop. From my casual observation, here is that advice column:

-Dress like the protagonist in a film about a ragged cyberpunk genius composing his masterpiece while dealing with the transition past middle-age. George Clooney would play you after losing and gaining the same 35 lbs two dozen times.

-Be sure to listen conspicuously to an old Walkman. Rewind emphatically over the parts that resonate with you. Potentially type the lyrics, look at them and nod. The meaningful kind of nod that makes the table shake.

-Speaking of which, your grizzled, serious demeanor should say that you are listening to a grainy Tom Waits bootleg that has been stored in a vault made of chlorine tablets, but the sound emanating from your headphones should say that you are listening to "I Am the Walrus" over and over again.

-Be sure to type very loud. Like, troublingly loud. Strike the keys like hailstones falling on the windshield of dad's silver Lincoln as you and Sarah made love for the first time. Type especially loud for sentences like that one. If the guy next to you (me) is not openly staring at you, marveling at the resilience of your keypad, you don't really mean what you're saying and Random House won't return your calls.

-Throw shit around, but on a tiny scale. Your novel is a house; your phone, Walkman, and scone are power tools, and inspiration is like a wall you see sagging, so you must drop them and reconfigure immediately to nail it before it tumbles to the ground. Pretend you are The Who and this 4-foot ledge is the Waldorf-Astoria.

-Do not acknowledge any males in the room. This part is difficult, because you are sharing a small, wobbly section of countertop with specifically one male.

-Be sure to whisper lines to yourself while looking around whenever a line extends to where you are sitting. Make me, the guy next to you, imagine the parallels you are drawing between the music, your story, events in real life, and current news events.

-Make it clear that the one current event missing from these parallels is the woman who sits next to you, i.e. where I am currently seated. Katja is 27, but her soul is as old as loneliness is hungry for habitude. The contradiction between her black yoga pants and her copy of "Mona Lisa Overdrive" intrigues you, but before you can coyly inquire about her bionic implants, she slides you a note that reads, "36th dock, 9:30". You know better than to speak, but not better than to let your stare linger on her legs a second too long. You try to keep writing, but you can feel her measuring her advantages over you, so you leave. You wander past Giuseppe's Pizzeria & Art Gallery... Nigel's Dry Cleaners & Art Gallery...  Urgent Care Clinic & Art Gallery... Finally it's 9:30, and Katja is at the end of the pier, her back to you because she knows she could kill you with one perfunctory kick, and because she knows you have been thinking about her ass for the past two hours. It turns out that Katja is the young plaything of an aging reclusive billionaire known only as The Walrus, who employs naive MIT graduates too heavily in debt to ask questions as interns. He has them compress code and design bionic microchips, then selectively wipes their memories clean so all they remember is debt, coding, and some residual Protestant work ethic instilled by their upbringing. Before you could ask what they were building, Katja leans in and bites your lower lip, firm yet playful. Her body welcomes you like an indebted stranger, giving you what you desperately want without granting any sense of victory. Once your cock is fully invested but not spent, the voice of The Walrus speaks in your mind, revealing his grand design. Katja's sexual appetite contains enough RAM for The Walrus' personality to thrive as an AI, and they needed a compatibly sexually frustrated body to serve as a host for the transfer. Your body. The consciousness of The Walrus usurps your own, and you begin to eagerly smear Katja's vaginal secretions, enhanced with millions of microchips, all over yourself. They are burrowing into your skin, and in the final twilight of your sentience, you hear "coo coo ca-choop”.

Joe & Debbie's Wedding Toast

Hi Joe and/or Debbie! Thank you for following my link. I will keep this here so that you may look upon it in times of nostalgia or times of strife so that you may reminisce as the pages yellow with time. Woah, what if there was an app that could make a web page yellow like paper in real time? You guys can take that idea and run with it, consider it a wedding present.

December 6, 2014

So Debbie approached me several months ago and asked if I would write the story of how Joe proposed to her and present it at the wedding. I was unsure of how to proceed, so I looked up how to write a wedding toast story on Yahoo Answers. They suggested that I put it off until the day of the ceremony, eat some cole slaw that was left in the sun for 12 hours, and write whatever pops into your head without editing it. So here we go. As many of you recall, the story of Joe and Debbie began literally 174 hours ago. Back then, Joe was about... 5 lizards and Debbie was 43 pigeons, if I remember correctly. They met right outside of That Restaurant Where They Only Serve Insects. Joe stood there staring at the pigeons (but only the ones that were Debbie), doing those pushups lizards do, hoping Debbie would check him out. Debbie approaches him, lights 27 cigarettes (the other 16 of her were trying to quit at the time) and Joe said, “I heard this restaurant only serves customers who are insects.” Debbie said, “I heard they only serve insects as food.” So they walk into the restaurant, only to find no insects at all. People were talking about insects, how they are ugly, how they are beautiful, how they are delicious, how they might have stopped existing decades ago. Joe said, “This sucks, there are no insects here, let's eat at my place.” “Oh,” Debbie replied, “I don't know if we should go that far. You are a lizard. 5 of them. What if you change colors on me?” “Please,” said Joe, “I am incapable of changing colors, so I paint them onto my canvas.” Debbie laughed at that line for 45 minutes. Joe knew there was only one way to recover, and I think you all know what he said. Everybody, say it with me: “You are like the first tornado of spring, I am a virile salmon king. Suck me up and spew me all over Arkansas and we'll grow like mold on mayonnaise”. Have more loving words ever been spoken? If that doesn't appear on a t-shirt soon, well, I'm just gonna stop wearing shirts! Anyway, the moment Debbie accepted those words, the 43 pigeons and 5 lizards that Debbie and Joe were started becoming people and less of them. Today before you stands approximately two people. Two people who are deep inside, still searching for insects with the intensity 43 pigeons and 5 lizards, together, just like the rest of us. Maybe some day, someone will find an insect, but for now, we'll just have to wait. Joe, Debbie, congratulations and may you always be the writhing supernova of understated eloquence you are today.

Monnn

11-22-14 around 2PM, I am approached and asked for change by a man and a shy woman. The guy had very earnest eyes and a facility with words that would make him really good at telling jokes (he looked a lot like Brendan Small, which might be why I thought this). I am digging through my bag for money and a lost bag of nuts, and after a few moments pass he says, "I didn't know that it would be such a struggle." The way it was timed, I thought he was being sarcastic about how much effort I had to expend exploring my bag, and the irony that he would call that a struggle made me laugh. I also pushed my chuckle and drew it out a little, the way you would laugh to generate mirth on a bad date, an austere crowd at a standup show, or with a homeless person who said something genuinely funny. Then I realized that he was not joking about my fake struggle, but referring to their very real struggle, thus rendering my laughter highly inappropriate. We parted ways after the exchange with no attempt on my part to address my laughter, but here is how I imagine said explanation would go:

Guy: I didn't know that it would be such a struggle.

(drawn out laughter)

Guy: It has been difficult, anything you can spare would be so helpful.

Me: Oh jeez, sorry, I thought you were joking!

Guy: About what?

Me: About how I was struggling with my bag!

Guy: What do you mean? I'm sorry to cause trouble, but it's just... we haven't had-

Me: -Oh no, it's not a struggle at all! Sorry I interrupted you. I just thought-

Guy: -It's OK, I-

Me: -I just thought it was ironic that you would call my search through my bag a struggle, considering what your daily existence must be.

Guy: It hasn't been easy...

Woman: Like you have any idea what our daily existence is like. Why do you think he'd joke about that?

Me: Well, he just has a very sincere face.

Woman: If he looks sincere, why do you think he was joking?

Me: Maybe he was being sarcastic, like someone walking by a construction site carrying a pizza and one of them says "Look who brought lunch!" They know it's not for them, they're just joking.

Guy: Why would you carry a pizza right in front of a bunch of people who are working and hungry?

Woman: Thanks for telling us what sarcasm is. Still doesn't explain why you think he was joking.

Me: I think part of it is that he looks like a comedian I like.

Guy: Oh is that so? Which one?

Me: Oh, he's not all that well-known...

Guy: What, are you saying I haven't heard of him?

Woman: Can't you see? There is no comedian, he's just making excuses.

Me: Fine, Brendan Small!

Guy: Is he funny?

Me: Yeah!

Guy: You don't sound too certain of that...

Woman: He doesn't sound too certain of anything!

Guy: So I remind you of an unfunny comedian.

Me: No! He is totally funny, he writes great character dialog that really captures the tediousness of human interaction, but I have seen him attempt some jokes in his stand-up that used pejorative terms to describe people born with ambiguous genitalia, and-

Guy: -Oh no! We missed our train while this guy was rambling about political correctness like some social justice warrior.

Woman: I think he just wanted to use the word "pejorative".

Guy: Now we'll never make it to the food bank on time!

Me: I found this bag of cashews!


Now here is how it would have gone if I wrote the homeless people as people and not just an extension of my guilt, paranoia, and social anxiety, and myself as a person instead of a narcissistic warrior fighting the hydra of his sense of inauthenticity:

Guy: I didn't know that it would be such a struggle.

(drawn out laughter)

Guy: It has been difficult, anything you can spare would be so helpful.

Me: Oh jeez, sorry, I thought you were joking!

Guy: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah, about how I was struggling with my bag? It's such a mess, haha.

Guy: Oh yeah, hahaha. Well thank you so much.

Woman: God bless you!

(they head off to train)

Me: Good luck!

Now here is that interaction if we had all secretly taken mushrooms and they hit the moment the guy says "struggle".

Guy: I didn't know that it would be such a struggle.

(drawn out laughter)

Guy: Why was that funny?

Me: (still searching through my bag) I can't seem to hold onto anything, it's great!

Guy: I hold on to too much.

(brief pause, still searching in bag)

Me: Are you still here?

Guy: You can look at us if you want to.

Woman: Careful, that was mean...

Me: (emerging from bag) No it's OK, I'm here now. Nobody's mean.

Guy: What are you going to do with those?

Me: (look at keys I'm holding) Oh yeah, money! (back into bag) Sorry, my bag is such a mess.

(Guy and Woman are staring past one another, I eventually emerge holding money and bag of cashews and look past them for a moment, then start taking tiny, tiny steps closer to them)

Woman: Oh, hey!

Me: Here they are! Here it is! (hand them goods) Sorry that took so long, you must've been standing there wondering if it was worth it.

Woman: It was so long, thank you for making it OK to mention!

Guy: I know! Thank you so much for saying that, and for the monnn.

Woman: God is truly everywhere

Guy: Monnn

Me: Time is not the avalanche I thought it was, but a different one I may never see?

Woman: Monnn

Guy: Monnn

Woman: Monnn

Guy: Monnn

Me: You guys are the Best, and what's more, have the Best day! (swinging arm to accent "Best", then walking off still spinning arm in similar fashion for three blocks)