Shriner
Vlad: Dude, what's with the Shriner?
Sigmund: What are you talking about?
Vlad: The Shriner. Where'd you get it?
Sigmund: I'm sorry, but I don't understand why you're asking me where I got a septuagenarian wearing a fez and driving around in a little go-cart. Your question doesn't make any sense. You might as well ask me where I got a muffin made of jealousy.
Vlad: Do you not have a massive black eye? Is it not almost swollen shut? Am I crazy for thinking that you have an unmistakable black eye and referring to it the way old-timey crooks would, as a "Shriner"?
Sigmund: I swear to God, if you didn't owe me money, I would punch you in your retarded face until you were as swollen and disfigured as Renee Zellweger. The word you're looking for, dear sir, is not "Shriner," but "shiner." You were asking where I got my SHINER. A Shriner is something completely different. And who says that nickname is exclusive to old-timey crooks?
Vlad: That's totally what they'd call it.
Sigmund: Yeah, you're right. And then they'd put on their black-and-white striped shirts and their black masks and beanies and then rob the bank of all its brown burlap sacks with large dollar signs printed on the outside. And then they'd drive back to their hideout and drink whiskey out of jugs and smoke unfiltered cigarettes.
Vlad: Wait... Are you saying... that's not gonna happen, or... What exactly are you saying?
Sigmund: I'm saying that's not going to happen. I'm saying you live in a fantasy world where everything is the way it is in movies and on bad radio drama. I'm saying that I'm genuinely surprised that you've survived 'til adulthood without drowning in a puddle of your own drool. I'm saying that in a just world, you would have been killed for your delicious meat long ago.
Vlad: You really think I'd be delicious?
Sigmund: Well, yeah. You live an entirely sedentary lifestyle, and you eat nothing but Cheetos and sausage. You've probably got more saturated fat than Kobe beef.
Vlad: Aww... Thanks, man. I'd eat you, too.
Sigmund: It makes me sad that you think that was a compliment.
Vlad: Whatevs, bro. Anyway, where'd you get the Shriner... er... whatever it's called?
Sigmund: I had an itch in my eye, and I forgot that I was holding a beer bottle.
Vlad (laughing): Dude, you smashed a beer bottle into your own eye?
Sigmund: It's not as stupid as it sounds.
Vlad: It most certainly is.
Sigmund: What are you talking about?
Vlad: The Shriner. Where'd you get it?
Sigmund: I'm sorry, but I don't understand why you're asking me where I got a septuagenarian wearing a fez and driving around in a little go-cart. Your question doesn't make any sense. You might as well ask me where I got a muffin made of jealousy.
Vlad: Do you not have a massive black eye? Is it not almost swollen shut? Am I crazy for thinking that you have an unmistakable black eye and referring to it the way old-timey crooks would, as a "Shriner"?
Sigmund: I swear to God, if you didn't owe me money, I would punch you in your retarded face until you were as swollen and disfigured as Renee Zellweger. The word you're looking for, dear sir, is not "Shriner," but "shiner." You were asking where I got my SHINER. A Shriner is something completely different. And who says that nickname is exclusive to old-timey crooks?
Vlad: That's totally what they'd call it.
Sigmund: Yeah, you're right. And then they'd put on their black-and-white striped shirts and their black masks and beanies and then rob the bank of all its brown burlap sacks with large dollar signs printed on the outside. And then they'd drive back to their hideout and drink whiskey out of jugs and smoke unfiltered cigarettes.
Vlad: Wait... Are you saying... that's not gonna happen, or... What exactly are you saying?
Sigmund: I'm saying that's not going to happen. I'm saying you live in a fantasy world where everything is the way it is in movies and on bad radio drama. I'm saying that I'm genuinely surprised that you've survived 'til adulthood without drowning in a puddle of your own drool. I'm saying that in a just world, you would have been killed for your delicious meat long ago.
Vlad: You really think I'd be delicious?
Sigmund: Well, yeah. You live an entirely sedentary lifestyle, and you eat nothing but Cheetos and sausage. You've probably got more saturated fat than Kobe beef.
Vlad: Aww... Thanks, man. I'd eat you, too.
Sigmund: It makes me sad that you think that was a compliment.
Vlad: Whatevs, bro. Anyway, where'd you get the Shriner... er... whatever it's called?
Sigmund: I had an itch in my eye, and I forgot that I was holding a beer bottle.
Vlad (laughing): Dude, you smashed a beer bottle into your own eye?
Sigmund: It's not as stupid as it sounds.
Vlad: It most certainly is.
posted by Vaughan at
5:12 PM
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