Posts Tagged ‘Tell me the most boring thing you know’

#498

January 10 2012

A. I’ll give you a dollar if you tell me the most boring thing you know.
B. Prove it.
A. You have to say it first.
B. No. Show me the dollar first. I need to SEE it.
A. I. Don’t actually have it on
B. Liar
A. But when we get back to
B. LIAR
A. I will absolutely give you a
B. Lyre
A. sweet strumming then
B. Lye-er
A. Hey! You can impugn my integrity, you can threaten to pluck my strings, but no one– not nobody– accuses me of dissolving bodies for laughs.
B. And soap.
A. Is that what soap is made actually let’s
B. Sometimes.
A. not talk about it.
B. Some bad times.
A. Seriously. Pop pop.
B. ?
A. Imagine that sound is coming from the tugged corners of your crisp new GW,
B. Gushy Warts?
A. and not my stupid mouth
B. and dumb lips
A. Right. And my dumb lips.
B. And fat tongue.
A. My tongue’s not fat.
B. Eh.
A. If anything, I think it’s too slim.
B. Long though.
A. Oh, most definitely.
B. But also a little bulky.
A. Height-weight appropriate.
B. For Shaq maybe.
A. What, you want to Not Date the Big Daddy Diesel of tongues?
B. Not complaining, just saying.
A. Saying “Oh GOD thank you, Big Poppa Pump
B. That’s Rick Steiner
A. –of tongues. Thank you all the way–
B. Or, Scott Steiner
A. to the FACE BANK”
B. I forget.
A. Oh, yeah. You’re right
B. Which one?
A. Umm… Scott. I’m pretty sure. It’s the shitty one, right?
B. Yeah. The asshole.
A. That’s Scott.
B. Face Bank?
A. What?
B. Whose face?
A. No, it’s a bank of them.
B. Oh.
A. My tongue takes you there.
B. I don’t get it.
A. My tongue is so good you make so many faces, every amazing face, and you gotta store ’em away forever
B. Wow. Really?
A. Yeah.
B. I think it should mean your face
A. What? How?
B. Like, your tongue is taking me all the way, all the way to your face bank and
A. And then
B. then I make a deposit, there
A. In my face bank.
B. Yeah.
A. No. No, I definitely meant to a saveworthy face place.
B. Huh.
A. Either way though
B. Oh yeah, definitely.
A. *eat*
B. *sip*
A. *bite* So how ’bouty ’bout it?
B. Speaking with your mouth full?
A. *chew* No *chew* that dollar bill I wrote your name on
B. Seriously?
A. Yeah.
B. So this was a plan of yours, asking me this?
A. I didn’t think it was going to be such a struggle, but yes. It was.
B. And you, ahead of time, thought to deface legal tender but not to actually bring that legal tender with you?
A. Well I don’t want to get caught.
B. … really?
A. *chew* Yeah.
B. No.
A. What?
B. No. I’m not going to tell you.
A. What? How come?
B. I don’t like it.
A. Being boring? It’s never
B. No. I don’t like you setting up our conversations like this. It feels weird. And gross.
A. Oh come on, it’s just this one dumb
B. Also fuck you. Also: is it?
A. Yeah.
B. Really?
A. Yeah?
B. Yeaah??
A. Yeah.
B.
A. No. It’s not.
B. How not.
A. Very?
B. How v
A. Every single one.
B. Every– All of it? All of them!?
A. No…
B.
A. to the first one. Yes to the second.
B. Make that make sense to me.
A. I come up with something, something for every time we talk. But not everything I say is planned.
B. And the stuff that is planned?
A. Well, there’s a lot of it.
B. But how planned.
A. … pretty planned
B. How planned.
A. I, I come up with an idea. And, um
B. And.
A. And I, well, I practice.
B. To learn your lines?
A. No. I don’t write lines, not usually.
B. Not u
A. I just come up with an idea– something I want to say– something specific maybe– or a question to ask you, but one that will unfold into something rich and interesting. Or sometimes it’s more of a bit like this
B. Offering me a dollar to say something boring
A. Yeah
B. And then that was it– you come up with the idea and that’s it– the dollar thing is it.
A. Yeah…
B. …?
A. I mean, I don’t write out a whole spiel or anything. But. I practice it. Beforehand– usually kind of a lot.
B. How much is a lot.
A. I mean, it’s hard to say, because I’ll run through it in my head at work in the days leading up to our dates,
B. An estimate
A. and that’s not at full concentration, though, and
B. An hour? two hours?
A. six or seven hours?
B.
A. Sometimes more like eight or twelve.
B. Twelve!?
A. I mean, it’s not fully concentrated though.
B. A half of an entire day?!
A. Not in a row.
B. What are you doing for half a day– standing in front of a mirror in a powder blue tux, or army surplus jacket, just… Saying it?
A. No, no. I don’t look in mirrors, I don’t say it out loud, not usually, I don’t even own a mohawk let alone a gun
B. Cute. Did you practice that line too?
A. No. I don’t. That’s not what I do.
B. No?
A. Not really. I j
B. What do
A. C’mon. I’m telling you.
B. *hand gesture*
A. Ugh. So, once I have the idea I just, kind of, imagine myself saying it to you. That’s how it starts. Then, from there, I mean– the first few times it’s just that. I’ll think of something good to say to you and then imagine saying it and you like it.
B. I always like it?
A. Not always. And if, if each time, after like six times saying it, imagining saying it and my idea of you doesn’t like it at least most of those times. Or, say, hasn’t come around to it in a big way, I just ditch it outright.
B. Quality control.
A. Exactly
B. But let’s say dark twisted fantasy me really enjoys it, is totally on board
A. It’s not like that.
B. Not like what?
A. It’s not, perverted. It’s just. It’s just,
B. Unpleasant to think about?
A. No. The opposite of that actually.
B. You sure? It seems
A. It’s that– I like thinking about you. I like being with you so I like thinking about being with you so when I’m bored, when I have to suffer through another stupid day at work, instead of thinking about my job I just think about when, I can next, be. With you. And what I can say to. To
B. To…
A. make you want to want to be, with me, as
B. Ok. No. That
A. much as I want to be with you.
B. Ok, ok. I think I got it. Let’s… just, eat.
A. But each time I ask  dreamyou the question, each time– there might be a different response because
B. *sip, eat; avert*
A. people aren’t always the same person.
B. *last bite, swallow* Can we get the check?
A. Ok, I get it. I know it’s over. That’s fine
B. *to the waitfolk* Everything was great. Excellent, really.
A. but, well, I think
B. Don’t worry. It’s my treat.
A. If everyone could find someone that they wanted to talk to even when they weren’t around, and if everyone did do that– did come up with nice things to say, and someone to say them to– and did think about how what they said would better the lives of those involved and did that– that everything would be better,
B. [already gone]
A. at least a little.
B. [but back again]
A. Now how do you feel about dollar bills?

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#497

January 2 2012

A. Tell me the most boring thing you know.
B. Bed time?
A. No. I’m still talking. We’re still talking.
B. Sure.
A. Just want to know the most boring thing you can think of, to know.
B. Sure.
A. Tell me the most boring thing you know.
B. Sky’s blue.
A. No.
B. What?
A. Boring boring.
B. Boring how?
A. Also true
B. Did the sky change.
A. It’s a reflection of the water
B. No?
A. Yeah. It’s only blue because it’s reflecting the color of the water
B. I think it’s the opposite of that
A. Water’s not red.
B.
A. That sounds familiar actually
B. From school, I bet. Science school.
A. What makes the sky blue then?
B. Cloudy days, ozone depletion, the songs of Harry Chapin, excess black bile
A. dumbass
B. I don’t know. Water particles probably?
A. Yeah. That sounds right.
B. Or the air is made of prisms. Or nanomachines.
A. Nanomachines?
B. Tiny robots.
A. I know what nan- ok, I don’t
B. They’re, they’re little magic robots that can do anything you can’t come up with a better explanation for how it happens
A. Sounds plausible.
B. I mean, they’re real. I think. Or they will be, it’s just
A. They’re not magic yet
B. Yeah. They don’t do things.
A. What does this have to do with the sky?
B. It’s blue because of them. Now or in the future.
A. Oh. Ok.
B. We’ll control the sky that way and then everything ‘ll be ok.
A. I wasn’t aware sky color was one of our more pressing issues.
B. The weather in general.
A. Oh.
B. We’ll be able to control all of it.
A. Huh.
B. No more floods, no more drought.
A. You don’t say.
B. At least not for the rich countries
A. Do rich countries have droughts? I thought that’s why they were rich.
B. Arizona, I bet. Or parts of California. The Dust Bowl, I bet.
A. I could have sworn that was brought on by our poverty…
B. So it was one of those opportunistic natural catastrophes
A. Wealth is how we determine God’s love and when you don’t have it that’s when your guard is down
B. Harsh.
A. It’s an incentive to do good at being successful
B. Because poverty itself isn’t stick enough
A. Well apparently not
B. There’s also no more snow.
A. What? Why!?
B. Snow’s a hazard, both safety-base and bad for the economy.
A. What about for ski resorts?
B. Sure, selectively we would let it snow
A. And then skiing would be better than ever!
B. Yeah. Almost defini
A. And all those snowboard jerks would pay
B. itely I don’t follow.
A. Ski on top of their frozen corpses
B. What?
A. like moguls. Then they’ll know.
B. Why?
A. Like dumb, stupid, jerk moguls… That’s not what I meant though.
B. Yes. Repent your snowvengous ways.
A. No, not not that.
B. Not what then.
A. Not what I meant by a boring thing.
B. Not boring enough? Sky blue’s pretty basic. I mean, once nanomachines get involved I guess
A. But not a fact. Not a sentence. Tell me something really boring.
B. Why?
A. The most boring thing you know.
B. Wait, why though?
A. I’m tired. And I love you.
B. Yes?
A. Just want to hear your voice say dumb things and lay here and let it sink me to sleep.
B. Odd song.
A. No. Sink. Not sing.
B. Weird… cement , piece of.
A. Shoes.
B. Let my words be your  murder shoes.
A. Let your words be my death galoshes.
B. That’s true. If I put you in cement shoes I wouldn’t take your regular shoes off first.
A. Unless they were real fly kicks.
B. That’s true. I wouldn’t want you to soar out of it.
A. Hm? Oh, yeah. I was just trying to be hips.
B. Mm. *grab* You’re always hips.
A. Noo. Not tired enough. Not boring.
B. What? *kiss, reach some* What could be more boring than, at this point, by now, me grabbing on you, kissing your neck, and digging for fire? *dig, fire*
A. Ahn. I think. You’re. You’re *hand v. hand* You’re underestimating my ability to stay real thrilled about the 6 or 7 good things humans can do to each other
B. *one hand slides higher, more nape kisses, quarterback sneak* Are you, fake yawn, sure? Annngh. I for one couldn’t be less so.
A. Yes, yes — yes . Yes.  Yes, I’m . I’m sure, I *dogie ropes, corrals around the waist, buck-less* I’m sure.
B. Fair enough *winter naps the arms, kerchiefs the sternum, and squeezes to settle* So, boring?
A. Be it. For me. Please. Now.
B. And this is to sleep you; it’s not a secret enraptorer.
A. No, I will not become enraptored.
B. Stupit Gehl
A. Excuse me?
B. It’s , the opposite of Clevah Gehl. You know.
A. Right, right.
B. I’m not entirely pleased with it either
A. We can workshop it.
B. Ok, I feel like
A. Later.
B. Oh.
A. Boring thing. Chop chop.
B. Hm.
A. Chip chup, now.
B. I’m thinking.
A. Chirp chirp. I’m not to feather my nest here, fascinatin’ myself.
B. Aw. Baby bird. *head kiss*
A. No, chapped chump. To boring me!
B. *move a strand of hair from mis to place*
A. Chipped chirps.
B. *kiss a cheek, a real good one– cherubic*
A. Churled Serbs!
B. *another face kiss, another, and then lips*
A. Cvrld Cvbrds
B. *continuous*
A. *chilled lips*

Later

A. Now you gotta bore me.
B. Again?
A. No. With your words. And I’m pretty sure I just bore you.
B. Words are fun.
A. Not all words. Not the ones you’re about to tell me.
B. Can’t I just boar y-
A. no.
B. Like a-
A. no.
B. Tusks.
A. *trombone lips*
B. Tusks?
A. *trumpet lips*
B. Da da Da da da Tusks!
A. No, just say dumb things for my unmusement.
B. Don’t you want to know what boaring you would entail tho?
A. Not unless it is also actually twist pun ending really boring.
B. No. *sulk/sigh* It’s super interesting.
A. Well…
B. Yes?
A. One more – but then you have to promise, Double Dog Promise, to bore the shit out of me.
B. That can certainly
A. And not in that way.
B. be, fine.
A. So?
B. Well, I.. well. It.
A. Oh c’mon.
B. I gore y
A. Gore me? With what.
B. My h
A. And if this is an Al Gore joke I swear to God I’m getting a pre-divorce
B. An nonnulment
A.
B.
A.
B. I don’t know. I thought I would come up with something.
A.
B. Probably, like, sex stuff though.
A. I’m getting in position *rubs a sleep groove into the sheets, full bodied*
B. Ok, ok. I’ll start ‘boring’ you.
A. Start?
B. Ah. Clever. Fun.
A. *nustles head into sheet, two words I can’t read, deep rips, then rests on A. Full Body Press*
B. Ok. You ready.
A. So ready. So.
B. Ok. When I was six.
A. Too interesting.
B. No, it’s really not.
A. I know so little of your life. Each bit is at least a little something, and the older the bit the moreso.
B. Fine.
A. But it can’t just be facts though
B. I know somebody
A. *nustle*
B. I don’t actually know them, not– I don’t know their name or anything but I see them everyday. Well, not everyday, but sometimes.
A. So far so good.
B. It’s not too broken up?
A. No. That helps. But, only in small doses or else it becomes frustrating, so, yes. Smooth it out now.
B. We see each other at the crosswalk, outside of work. Usually on the way there, but sometimes on the way back, and, rarely, both.
A. So they work in the same building as you?
B. No. We’re headed in opposite directions.
A. Hm. That threatens to be intrigueful…
B. Are you supposed to be talking? I thought you wanted to sink
A. I can do both.
B. If you want to drown quicker…
A. Except in this case the opposite, no, you’re right. I’ll shut it.
B. Thank you.
A. *smile*… *nod*
B. Right. So every… three mornings or so, and every… seven or nine afternoons, I see this person.
A. *nod on chest*
B. And it has gotten to the point where I recognize them. Well, obviously. I couldn’t be telling you this otherwise.
A. *look up*
B. And I’ve been debating if I should start acknowledging them or not.
A.
B. I mean, they– we don’t usually make eye contact, but I think it’s because they’re avoiding my eye contact. *look down*
A. *opens eyes wide to ‘and…’ or ‘so…’*
B. I know they know I notice them. I’m sure of it. And, it’s not like, it’s not like they look away or anything– I’ve never actually seen her avert me, it, my eye contact, I haven’t. But… but I can just tell. They let their focus go soft. They don’t want to have to know me for some reason.
A. *eyes open, head to chest; awake*
B. If I could. Get their attention, have them acknowledge me. That’s just want I want. Or, what, I mean. But.
A. So, you have a crush on a stranger.
B. What? No.
A. What. Yes.
B. Maybe?
A. Ok.
B.
A.
B.
A.
B. I guess it’s not that boring.
A. It is a little, just not for me.
B. Sorry.
A. Really?
B. Sorry.
A. Huh.