At one point this weekend, E.S. came into the room to see me finishing the last of a bag of Chocolate Turtle Chex Mix.
E.S.: Hey, I wanted some of that!
FAUSTUS (chewing): So?
E.S.: Okay, that’s it. Now you have to make me lunch.
(FAUSTUS gnaws on E.S.’s arm.)
FAUSTUS: There, you’re lunch.
E.S.: You’re an asshole.
FAUSTUS: I’d rather be an asshole than lunch.
E.S.: Oh, my God.
What, did he think you’d rather be lunch? I thought you were getting married and he doesn’t even know you at all!
I hope that you did prepare a lunch for him after that; otherwise, through a series of events that I won’t mention because a) it would be too painful to write, and b) you can well imagine it yourself, you are likely to end up in a country music song, which, obviously, would seriously undermine your quest to be the gayest man ever.
And then you had…
I can’t even bring myself to go there anymore.
Although for some, isn’t an asshole lunch?
I love it.
But what on earth on Chocolate Turtle Chex Mexmixwhatevers…? Clearly I am out of the junkfood loop.