A. I want a vacation.
B. Like, a divorce?
A. No. I want to take a trip.
B. Oh. Thank god.
A. Wait– did you want to break-up?
B. No. That’s why I’m thanking god.
A. But you don’t even believe in God.
B. I know! It’s a double miracle!
A. Mm. So where do you want to go?
B. On this vacation?
A. Yes.
B. Huh. I don’t know
A. I was thinking somewhere warm.
B. But it already is warm.
A. Not warm enough, though. Not in a real meaningful way.
B. Ah. So you’re thinking: the desert.
A. No.
B. Qatar, maybe?
A. Not Qatar.
B. Are we even on vacationing terms with them?
A. I don’t actually know where Qatar is.
B. But you don’t want to go there
A. I assumed ‘Middle East’ and no thanks.
B. Yeah. I want to say Saudi Arabian peninsula.
A. Ok.
B. …if that’s a place.
A. I was thinking something like Hawaii, but not Hawaii.
B. Why not Ha’wa’i’i?
A. Meh.
B. But you want to go somewhere like Ha’wa’i’i?
A. Yeh.
B. Hm. Guam?
A. That’s, part of the United States right?
B. Yeah…  I think it’s a territory.
A. Is it like Hawaii?
B. It’s in the Pacific Ocean. I think.
A. Yeah, that sounds’ right. Let’s not.
B. Yeaah.
A. I mean, I don’t know anything about there but , I feel like we would have heard more about it if it was worth a damn.
B. Harsh, but agreed.
A. Where else though?
B. New Hampshire?
A. New, no. What?
B. It’s very nice there in the summer.
A. Not nice enough.
B. You haven’t swam until you’ve swimmed in a lake.
A. I’ve swum in a lake. I’ve swem in so meny leks. It was gross.
B. Not a New Hampshire lake. That’s a lake so nice you can drink out of it. And people do!
A. You’re not selling me on this…
B. Well, it’s cheap, and we’re poor.
A. True.
B. Also, do you even have any vacation left?
A. I think I have 6 hours.
B. So anywhere we go you’d be taking a double hit.
A. Yeah.
B. New Hampshire is relatively close and they’ve got ice cream…
A. Guhh
B. Plus I played Capture the Flag there once
A. Do you think they’re still playing?
B. We did say first to 10,000 captures…
A. Maybe we could just stay here and set up a 3-4 day capture the flag game
B. With, like, tents & stuff?
A. Yeah! We can get people to live in the woods with us for a long weekend.
B. Eh… it’s gonna be hard enough to convince them to take off a Friday let alone
A. Shirts vs Skins. All weekend.
B. And we only know like, eight people
A. Bandanas. Drinking out of jugs, hidden rations
B. I mean, 5v5 would be ok, but
A. Crush berry facepaint
B. I don’t see us getting 8 yeses
A. What about Tahiti?
B. Honey.
A. Compromise!
B. We– how exactly is that a compromise?
A. Hm. Good point. Fine, I will go as low as Old Hampshire– the English countryside– but that is it.
B. How about next year?
A. Final offer, going once…
A. twice…
A. …Well, my vacation re-ups in November.
B. Ok. Maybe we could take a long out-of-country, unAmerican Thanksgiving.
A. We already told my parents we’d go to Ann Arbor.
B. Well that’s near Toronto. I think.
A. We’re not vacationing in Toronto.
B. You know, I’ve never been to Canada.
A. Yes you have.
B. No. When?
A. We went to the casino in Windsor two Christmasses ago.
B. That was in Detroit. Detroit, America.
A. It’s near Detroit, but no, that was Canada.
B. I object: all casinos are de facto American territory. Those classy Monte Carlo baccarateries excepted, of course.
A. Of course. But still, you’ve been to Canada.
B. That hardly counts…
A. It’s Canada! Nothing about it counts!
B. That’s not fair. Don’t take it out on Canada just because you wanted to go to Tahiti. It’s not Canada’s fault that it doesn’t have luscious naturally exploitable colorful titty lady shapes
A. You’re right. I’m sorry Canada. I apologize for your lack of noble bigtitty savagesses.
B. “All is forgiven, my child”
A. Eugh. What happened to Canada?
B. The decency gap between it and the U.S. has finally gone to its head and they’ve gone a tad beatific.
A. White shirt, white pants,
B. no shoes, white belt
A. Shirt unbuttoned, almost halfway
B. chest hair distributed such as to create a perfect self-portrait
A. Would you like me better if my name was Tad Beatific?
B. Oh, most definitely.
A. Yeah. Me too.
B. *slow nod*
A. I bet everywhere is a vacation when you’re Tad Beatific.
B. Or with!
A. Yeah.
B. Maybe we should break up
A. What?? You thanked God! Tad’s #1 pal!
B. But think about it, we can’t afford a vacation to somewhere else
A. No.
B. but we can afford a vacation to someone else!
A. Yeah, I saw where that was going. No.
B. I don’t even mean being romanceful with another person.
A. Just fucking.
B. No, I mean being a different person ourselves. Or… theirselves.
A. Ehh. That sounds like a pretty dumb idea.
B. What? You’re completely fine always being A****** A*****? You just said you weren’t.
A. Tad Beatific is an idea not a reality. An ideal, not real. Don’t besmirch.
B. I’m not besmirching. But why can’t you be Tad Beatific?
A. Lack of white belt and insufficiently mimetic chest hairs?
B. Sure, but you could still for a week be the most placid and accepting and condescendingly transcendent judgmentally non-judgmental piece of shit!
A. That doesn’t sound fun though. Not for more than a day.
B. We could just do a day. Even cheaper, time-wise.
A. Well who would you be?
B. A Private Detective.
A. Wow. You had that ready to go.
B. I always wanted to be a PI but was too… an actual human person.
A. Yeah, I don’t think that’s a real thing.
B. No, it is. But they mostly just take pictures of cheating spouses and hack voicemails. Gross.
A. So what would your vacation even entail? You don’t have a ‘case’, you can’t just get cases. And apparently they aren’t even real cases just weirdo snooping.
B. Actually, I’ve sort of had my eye on our upstairs neighbor for a while.
A. Mr. Galley?
B. Yeah. Mr. Galley…
A. Why him? I mean, whadja like him for, Skip?
B. Skip?
A. Dickles?
B. Mick. Mick Fleetfoot.
A. The Fleetwood Mac guy?
B. No. That’s Mick Fleetwood.
A. That’s awful similar don’t you think.
B. Everyone just calls me Mick anyways.
A. Of course. So, Mr. Galley?
B. I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on his wife…
A. But that’s exactly what you said you don’t want to do!
B. Well not if someone tells me that he’s cheating and then I catch him cheating. That’s not a real investigation, that’s…
A. A private investigation?
B. Homework. No, I’m going to figure the whole thing out all on my own. If he is, who with, when, where, how
A. How? Like, in the mouth or in the butt?
B. No. How he’s getting away with it. Why she hasn’t found out.
A. What if she does know. Maybe they have an open marriage.
B. Huh. I didn’t think of that.
A. In fact, I have seen her at the bar we do trivia at, usually with men who aren’t Mr. Galley…
B. Really? Oh man, I gotta writ
A. No.
B. this, down. How come?
A. You bit so easy on such nothing. I don’t think this vacation idea is going to work. We should just go to the Seychelles instead.
B. You’re the worst.
A. You run into a lot of creeps and slimeballs when you’re Skip Dickle.
B. Ugh. Fine. We don’t have to do an out-of-self vacation.
A. And I guess we can put off doing an out-of-state vacation for now
B. But who would you have gone to?
A. Er, pardon?
B. Who would you have been? Instead.
A. Huh. A billionaire who could go to Tahiti, or their own private Tahiti equivalent.
B. No, you have to choose something real, something possible.
A. Actually, the idea of a private Tahiti equivalent sounds pretty miserable. Unless you could also pay other people to also be touristing there at the same time
B. Chooose
A. Hold on, I’m thinking this through– because even though you sort of hate other tourists, for being obnoxious, and for reflecting your own stupid touristness back at your,  you still need other people. Especially other people as desperate for other people to validate their vacationness back at them. Reflect the good stuff too
B. And the f
A. Please don’t interrupt me
B. O, kay
A. No, jk jk. What were you going to say?
B. Well, that it besides them also having the same tourist expectations you also, both, have nothing but free time and can act accordingly.
A. Yeah. Great. Right.
B. Ok. So you would probably want to go as an asshole?
A. I think that actually implies that I’m not being an asshole right now, but I feel you. I feel you.
B. Feel away.
A. Hm. *feel*
B. Mmm. Seriously though
A. Srsly *feel feel*
B. If you could vacation away from your own,  dumb self for a week or so
A. Hmm *feel (cont.)* Maybe an old movie star.
B. Noo. It has to be somethin-uhh. Somethinnnn. Uh-tttainable.
A. No, you miss my meaning. *f-e-e-l* I don’t want to be an actual movie star, I just want to be an oblivious, high-class, fashionable anachronism.
B. Oh. Like, ahhh ah.
A . Like all dress-up and affectational *keeps feeling* and out-of-touch and a hard to discern mix of senility and entitlement. Walk out on checks. Convince a grocery person to push the cart for me and put stuff in it *feels feels feels feels feels*.
B. Guhuhhhhh uh, uh, uh, recreational wheelchair an, and full-face sunnnnnglasss-eh-eh-ehs
A. Exactly!
B. I’m. I’m all felt. I’m your ‘on the town’ matching pants/vest/hat combo.
A. Ha.
B. Uhhh. Phew.
A. Make-believe aside, I think you’re actually on to something vacation-wise.
B. Huh? New Hampshire?
A. Mutual sick day into long naked weekend.
B. Sold!
A. Now let’s go grab a fedora so you can Mick the shit out of me.
B. Already have one.
A. Bahhh. Creep.
B. A soon to be multi-day nude creep.
A. Aren’t they all?
B. Fair point.
A. Vaacaatioon.


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