A. Never will I ever… win an American League Cy Young.
B. Really ruling things out, huh.
A. National League: who can say.
B. Ok. Never will I ever… eat my weight in cocktail shrimp.
A. How about a thirdweight?
B. I don’t foresee it, no.
A. Pity. Never will I ever make first chair of the London Philharmonic.
B. Not even for triangle?
A. Do they keep doing that past 1st grade?
B. I could have sworn I heard something on NPR about professional trianglers.
A. OH right. They prefer ‘Triangulators’. Go.
B. Never will I ever… raise an endangered African rhino as a human child.
A. … the game really loses something when you go the other way with it.
B. No. I think it’s just that we’re going too far the other way with it.
A. ‘Splain how.
B. Well, if we were playing Never have I ever, but then said the same things we’ve been saying for Never will I ever, it would still be equally worthless.
A. You may have a point.
B. Yeah. I guess I do.
A. Never will I ever … have sex on the first date.
B. Is this an Aaliyah thing, or
A. a) Monica b) Only slightly. More an I don’t even know you thing.
B. Fair enough. Never will I ever… cry at a movie.
A. I don’t believe you.
B. Never have, never will.
A. What? Not even A League of Their Own?
B. A League of Their… what? Why that?
A. She gives up her own dreams for that stupid sister of hers. And then Tom Hanks dies, and they see his grave at the Hall of Fame, and that dumb jerk kid survived but he didn’t. It’s, very emotional.
B. I was just mad that she dropped the ball.
A. She loved her sister THAT much.
B. Ugh. Her sister was an asshole.
A. Well. The good news is that the Aaliyah Memorial Not the First Night policy is a moot point.
A. Never have I ever
B. Never will you ever.
A. Never WILL I ever, own a house.
B. Give it time.
A. Don’t be presumptuous. I just don’t want a house is all.
B. And my friend Maria swore she would never get married. Two husbands later…
A. … you just sort of trailed off there.
B. She’s been married twice!
A. Oh. I thought you had new Hot Scoops about Maria.
A. Oh well. Your turn.
B. What if the economy– some how– gets worse and worse, and for whatever reason you are completely unaffected, so that for you buying a house becomes equivalent to getting a car, or a really nice guitar.
A. Do I still have to maintain it, and the property, and pay insurance, and have a mortgage, and live outside the city, and thus have a car, and
B. Mortgage, maybe not. The others yes.
A. I just don’t really want a house and don’t foresee that changing.
B. I guess this is a bad time to tell you I am actually just a super stealth real estate agent playing you for the long con.
A. Hm. I would actually welcome that revelation at this or any time.
B. Shoot. Well it’s a lie.
A. Sad. Who doesn’t love a good long con.
B. Probably the people who get long conned, losing not just their money or property but also their time and ability to trust human beings ever again.
A. But what a punchline!
A. Seriously. You’re 87 years old, you’ve been married to this person for 51 years. They come to your deathbed and tell you that, you know, they were just in it for the money the whole time. You wouldn’t laugh?
B. I, don’t think that counts. Or happens.
A. Yeah, I know. But how sweet that would be to see that happen.
B. Was that really a long con? The cost-benefit on 51 years of daily commitment…
A. Nah. They’re just doing a cute hospice bit.
B. I see.
A. Do you? Your turn.
B. Never will I ever eat meat again.
B. I think I’m a vegetarian now.
A. C’mon. You have to do a real one.
B. No really though. I was thinking about it this morning and I think I’m going to do it.
A. But never will you ever?
B. I think so.
A. I… still don’t believe you.
B. You don’t even know me though.
B. For all you know I could be a vegan already.
A. No you couldn’t. Also, that would be a really weird lie to tell.
B. That I’m vegan?
A. That you were vegan but then told me that you were thinking of becoming vegetarian.
B. But think of the story behind it. Long c
A. Yeah. Weird. Sort of gross.
B. I’m still doing it, though.
A. I’m sorry. I can’t say that I believe you will. But it’s cool that you want to, I guess.
B. You didn’t even ask why I wanted to though…
A. Ok. Shoot.
B. So, for the past week and a half I’d been looking forward to Friday night. We’d been putting together a new contract with a major client, and everything was coming together. Friday was our deadline, so to celebrate we my boss was taking us to Ruth’s Chris.
A. I hear they are good at making steaks.
B. Exactly. So I was pretty excited to eat a steak that costs as much as I made to work that day.
A. You only make fifty dollars a day?
B. I think it might have been even less than that… no. I was being fun.
B. It’s like being funny, except not actually funny.
A. Understood, continue with your steak story.
B. Yeah. So, I was really looking forward to this steak. And Friday comes, and the deal goes down, and everyone is excited, and we head to the restaurant, and Anne doesn’t even let us see the menu, she’s just filets all around, and gets all these appetizers. I sort of wanted a T-bone, but whatever.
A. Can’t fight the filet.
B. Would be a fool to try. So I get the steak, and it is, well its perfect. Has the jus, it’s that perfect pink and red. I like asparagus. And I take that first bite. And it is absolutely frigging delicious.
A. Oh, don’t mince your oaths.
B. Fine. It is really, *fucking* good.
A. So good that no ever steak– or any animal corpse– could ever again possibly sate or slake your lust for blood and muscle…
B. I’m not done yet, cool it PETA.
A. You’re the born-again ‘vegetarian.’ I still eat meat.
B. So the first bite is really .fucking. good. And I take the second bite and it’s also good. And the third bite, is still good, but. I don’t know.
A. Your tastebuds limped out on you.
B. Yeah. Sort of. I mean, I wanted to like it. I thought. In the moment I tried to tell myself I did like it. But…
A. You still wanted to be friends.
B. I couldn’t even finish it.
A. Steak, I know this is a cliche, but
B. My boss, and everyone I work with, they started to rip on me and so I had to make up a lie about how I had felt sick at work and stuff.
A. HAD to. Can’t let them know you didn’t like your food hunk.
B. Like I really slow-played it, too. Started off just saying that I didn’t feel so hot. But then also, when I thought people were looking, I’d like touch my side, but only a little. Or give a tight teeth ‘powering-through’ face. Even when they weren’t looking, just for realism.
B. I even convinced myself enough so that when I got home I wrapped my arm around the bowl for like six minutes, seeing if I’d hurl. But I wasn’t sick.
A. You were just an insane maniac.
B. …No. I just, didn’t like it anymore. Not even that. It just stopped doing anything for me entirely.
A. So now meat gets dumped.
B. I think so. Yeah.
A. You’ll be back. Trust me.
A. Hey, I don’t think *I* could do it.
B. … Your turn.
A. Never will I ever ride a horse.
B. Good riddance.
B. Never will I ever… eat
A. You already did eat
B. Let me finish
B. Another human being
A. …are you kidding me?
B. Not even if my plane crashes and that is the only way to survive, no.
A. That’s weak. I mean, there’s almost zero chance of that being an issue. Also, of course you will.
B. Man, are you going to doubt every one of mine.
A. No, not if you play right. And acknowledge the human survival instinct.
B. Ugh. So we can probably call this a date.
A. Aw, c’mon.
B. I think I’d really rather not
A. No, no. Come on.
B. Sorry, I just don’t think it’s going to work.
A. Blank slate, blank slate!
B. Blank slate?
A. We got off to a bad start. Why not try again.
B. Eh, I don’t think so.
A. I mean, your night is already spoken for– I assume you don’t have anything better to do
A. So why not try?
B. …but I already put on my coat
A. See, you got nothing. You’ve already invested your time, and that is a sunk cost that you are not ever getting back, so you may as well give it a shot because effort is free.
B. *sighs; takes off coat* So, what now?
A. Hey! You must be boxfulofboxes.
B. Yeah. I am. And… reticulatingsplines?
A. Indeed, indeed. I should say here before we start over that I did lie about one of my answers.
B. But we already did start over
A. Gotta clean that slate, only way to blank it.
B. Ok. Which one, Blanket?
A. I have not and cannot live up to Aaliyah’s shining example.
A. Aw, good catch! So yeah, just wanted to try not to. Maybe that is why I was so distrustful of yours.
B. I. I lied too.
A. I ffFucking knew it.
B. I cried at Milo & Otis. And Fox and the Hound. I was seven, though.
A. Oh. …LIAR
B. I know. I know. — Dogs and cats, man.
A. I’m just playing.
B. They were such good friends…
A. Never will I ever
B. Oh, right
B. You’re breaking poor Voltaire’s heart.
A. I tend to.
B. Well played. Someone passed AP English.
A. Or is it I cultivate to…
B. Eh, depends on the translation. Never will I ever… crowdsurf.
A. You don’t long to feel the lap of sweaty hands against, slash grabbing, slash all up in your butt’scrack?
B. No, I just said I didn’t want to crowdsurf. Let’s not rule anything out.
A. So notruled.
B. Your turn.
A. Never will I ever fall in love with you.
B. Oh gofuckyourself.
A. I was eating a bell pepper at lunch today and thought of you.
A. Because it was full of seeds.