A: I HEAR YOU HAVE A BABY
A: When you have a baby you don’t have time to do ANYTHING
F: That’s because babies take up so much time
A: I know
F: What is it that babies take so much time doing?
A: The babies are very busy, they are constantly reading dense texts and challenging your preconceived notions about things
F: Like what sorts of things?
A: Like … arbitrary–
A+F [in unison] …arbitrary taxonomies of genre!?!
F: I’m bummed out again about how I don’t feel like I know how to make sense. Or, maybe, I hate making sense. Making nonsense is much more fun.
A: It’s hard to tell the difference between making nonsense is more fun in the way that smoking lots of pot and watching Adult Swim is more fun, or making nonsense is more fun in that you are an acolyte of Jarry and Ionesco and Stein and live your life in a radical subversion of standard bourgeoise modes of expression etc
F: I think I sometimes milk that ambiguity. Like I pretend to be a highbrow Dadaist when in fact I’m just waiting for the next fortnight of pajamas and Xavier Renegade Angel
A: Xavier Renegade Angel
F: But Xavier Renegade Angel is made by guys who split that difference. They’re students of Gordon Lish, they seem like they’ve done their homework, and they might have pretensions for their show to have a depth or at least a terminal bleakness that makes the comedy that much more “fucked up”
A: Did you ever check your email during the dark time of hospital visits and black veiled hospitalizations
F: There’s never been a time in my life when I haven’t checked my email every fifty minutes
A: remember when you first went camping and they explained what the trowel was for?
F: Yes. The trowel is for digging a little pit for you to shit into. Then you wipe with leaves, and bury your poo like a tiny funeral rite.
A: That’s a lot of work for a poo.
F: You’re not pooing so much in the forest. Maybe once a day if you’re lucky
A: Also not a lot of urgent emails to respond to in the woods.
F: Are you pining for the pines, blood?
A: The grass is always greener in the other bong. I had my dream job, and now I have my other dream job. Someday I won’t have any dream job and I’ll be shooting squirrels for sustenance
F: Shooting them with what?
A: An inherited crossbow.
F: Inherited from who?
A: A girl I met on the internet
F: Why did she leave you the crossbow in her will?
A: She said she liked my blog.
F: How did she die?
A: She faked her own suicide.
F: So she’s still alive?
A: No. She actually killed herself, but she didn’t mean it.
F: You know how if you commit suicide you don’t get in to harvard I mean heaven?
F: that’d be funny if whoever the last person you slept with got to rewrite your will if you ended up killing yourself