Parker, get in here. I need pictures of Spiderman.
Let me see these.
Parker, these are just scribbles of Spiderman. These are made out of glossy paper and crayon.
[Slightly NSFW. This is going to get a little weird. But you should know that if you’ve read literally any of our monologues.]
I always dread the drive down here to Ashberg. Leaving the comforts of Ruby Tuesdays and Krispy Kremes of Indianapolis to drive through four hours of snow and empy corn fields is not exactly an entertaining Friday evening. I could be six inches into my frumpy wife when I hit the Mobil 66 gas station that marks the half-way point. But you boys, you good old country boys, have impressed this jaded old college scout with your hustle tonight.
by Leeroy Applesauce
Hi. Excuse me sir. Yes, me, the tiny person standing next to your sugar bowl and cup of coffee. I’m sure you must be rather—no please do not try and smash me with the newspaper. There are many uses for the New York Times, but destroying me isn’t one of them. As I was saying, you must be a little startled; after all I am riding a trained beetle. If you can stop searching for a mallet and listen to me…we need to talk about this economy.