Actual straight-faced conversation I had with my wife the other day / Lionel Truthobel

Me: We got some time before the bus comes. I think I might go and get something we can eat on the way.

Wife: Where are you going to go?

Me: There’s that Quiznos a few blocks down. That work for you?

Wife: Yeah.

Me: What kind of sandwich do you want?

Wife: Do they have veggie?

Me: I would imagine so.

Wife: Then I’ll have that. With whatever veggies they have, mustard and mayo.

Me: What if they don’t have a veggie sandwich?

Wife: Then I guess I’ll have turkey.

Me: And what would you want on the turkey sandwich?

(after a brief moment of consideration)

Wife: I guess whatever veggies they have, mustard and mayo.

Me: On wheat?

Wife: On wheat.

Thoughts as I fall from the roof of a building after slipping on a banana peel / Midge Mayhem

Well, this is embarrassing.

I guess that's what I get for horsing around on the roof of a 120 floor building.

Although I gotta say the punishment of certain death seems a little extreme.

Wow! This is windier than I expected. Really quite annoying.

Slipping on a banana peel. What a way to go out!

It sure beats dying of cancer or getting stabbed in the gut after being robbed. I mean, at least I get the pleasure of pondering the irony. Both hilarious and tragic!

Who disposes of their banana peel on the roof of a 120 story building anyway?

Sure would like to have a strong word or two with that dick head.

People will probably think I committed suicide.

That's unfortunate. . .

On the other hand it may be preferable to the notion that I simply slipped.

I guess I need to decide if I want my family and friends to think I was really depressed or really stupid.

If there was only a way I could tell them that I slipped on a banana peel. . . I think they'd appreciate that.

I have piece of paper in my back pocket here. I wonder if I have a pen?

[checking coat pocket for pen]

If anyone is watching me fall right now they're probably asking themselves, "Is that guy reaching into his coat pocket looking for something?"

Ha! If only I had a pair of reading glasses I could put on or a cigarette I could try to light.

That would be classic!

I'd be a YouTube sensation. Go all viral and shit!

Well, no pen. Must have left it on my desk. Oh well. So much for that idea.

I wonder if my cheeks are doing that flappy thing?

Coming close to the ground here. I guess I should brace myself?

Hmm. Feet first or head first?

I'll go with head. No need to try to make this look prettier than it's going to be.

Should I yell something?

Maybe "Heads Up!" or "Coming through!"

I guess it should be something more poignant seeing as they'll be the last words I'll utter. . .

Perhaps, "Glory be to Jesus!" or "U.S.A. U.S.A.!"

No. I'm going to go with something that cements my legacy. Something more personal. A quick statement that, when relayed to my friends and family, will result in both the nodding of heads in a solemn fashion as well as faint smiles of respect and deep understanding.

"Tell everyone life is like a banan-"

!!!SPLAT!!!

Feelings toward the park guy / Bryce Meals

Oh hi!

I'm the guy that just took his shirt off at the park. Judging by frequent glances I see you tossing in this direction I'm guessing you're not quite sure what to make of me. I understand. Take your time.

No doubt your first inclination was to dismiss me as douche bag. Most guys who take their shirts off in parks are. But the fact that I did NOT do so after first standing and stretching and slowly rotating in a self-absorbed display giving all within a fifty foot radius a eyeful whether they wanted one or not surely gives you pause. No, I remained seated on my blanket and disrobed of my top layer in as discreet of method that can be reasonably expected given the surroundings. But not too discreet either. Still confident but not over confident by any stretch of the means. I also did look genuinely hot and uncomfortable so the shirt removal can be deemed as justifiable. Hmm. What to make of me.

I don't have six-pack abs so it's not as if I trying to show off a brilliantly sculpted body. I'm also not one of those "comfortable in my own skin" fat asses who subjects onlookers to a gut so ample it fails to respond to heavy inhal/exhalations with any movement whatsoever. My girth neither fascinates nor repels, yet you can't look away.

Not quite ready to decide yet? OK fair enough. Have you noticed my shorts? No pleating or plaid to speak of so there goes any hope at comfortably dismissing me as a dork or preppy. Even more perplexing is the absence of cargo, frayed or otherwise, so unfortunately I can't be classified as a stoner or meat head. These shorts are indeterminable in terms of brand name, style, and purchase price. For all you know they could be designer shorts fresh off the Milan runway or those of the $5.99 variety I shoplifted from Target.

Pretty much the same story with my shoes.

Even now as I stand to acknowledge the arrival of a female acquaintance you can't seem to peg as a friend, lover, or former lover your feelings towards me remain as allusive as ever. Assuming for a moment that this woman is my girlfriend would that even help? I mean her face is cute enough but her chest is a little underwhelming to say the least. OK ass. Plus you're not seeing a whole lot in terms of affection between me and this mystery woman so perhaps she's just a friend. She's got kind of an annoying laugh to be a close friend though. Maybe she's my sister. Yeah that's probably it. But then again, what do you think about a guy just hanging out in the park with his sister. It's nice I guess but defiantly not awesome or anything.

So where do we stand, you and I? You think I'm cool don't you?

I'm certainly charming enough. At least it appears that way. Even though I'm not within earshot folks nearby seen genuinely amused by my banter. Well there's one guy that looks a little put off but he's wearing linen pants so he's most certainly an asshole. In fact, his disapproval even helps my cause. If assholes hate me then you should like me because you're not an asshole. You hate assholes. Although the fact that I'm talking loudly enough for others to overhear while not wearing a shirt certainly doesn't bode well, regardless of how witty and personable my demeanor may be.

Admit it. You hate me.

Well, looks like it's time for me to go as I put back on my t-shirt at such an angle that it doesn't give you the pleasure of seeing if it happened to promote any band or product that I may have a strong opinion about. Sorry about that. Doesn't look like this is going to get settled today my confused friend. Perhaps next time I'll wear some kick ass sunglasses or a super gay hat that helps tip the scale one way or the other. Until then either loathe or enjoy the periodic visions of my sweat speckled chest, neither toned nor flabby, and the ceaseless second-guessing that comes with it.

My name is Adam if that helps. I know it doesn't.

S.T.R.A.W. origins / Hugo Eyestay

[Two guys sitting at a bar]

Tim: Ugh.

Dave: What's the problem, Tim?

Tim: Nothing.

(uncomfortable silence)

Dave: C'mon man. Something's up. Lay it on me.

Tim: It's just. . . I mean. . . Look, we've been coming to this beverage dispenser for a while now.

Dave: (a little to proud of himself) Many many years.

Tim: And we sit at this table, we talk about this, we chat about that, we have a few laughs. . .

Dave: That we do.

Tim: It's just that. . . and I don't mean to complain. . .

Dave: Spit it out man!

Tim: The beverages we drink. The receptacles they reside in. They're so far away from our mouths.

Dave: What do you mean?

Tim: It's like this. So there's the liquid conveyor-

Dave: Ben?

Tim: Yeah Ben, the liquid conveyor.

Dave: I love Ben!

Tim: Yeah Ben's a great guy. I'd fucking take a bullet for Ben. That's not the point. Shut up!

Dave: Sorry. Go on.

Tim: The liquid conveyor. Ben. He's got all the beverages there behind his embankment. His job is to accept our paper and metal coins in exchange for tasty beverages that are ingested into our primary head orifice, right?

Dave: Damn straight.

Tim: OK good. So if his job is to transport the liquid from the primary canisters behind his embankment to our primary head orifice. . .

Dave: Yeah?

Tim: (rubbing his forehead) Then why am I sitting here staring at a secondary beverage canister, containing all the liquid I exchanged my hard earned paper and metal coins for, literally a good foot away from my lips?

Dave: I'm not following.

Tim: It's because you're not properly assessing the current situation. Allow me break it down for you. Let me know if you agree.

Dave: Hold on. This sounds important. Allow me to hoist my secondary canister up towards my primary head orifice so that I may partake of a sizable portion of the liquid, thereby quenching my thirst so that I may fully concentrate on, and appreciate, the self-ascribed poignant words you are about to utter.

Tim: Please do so. It will more effectively illustrate my point.

(Dave takes a big gulp of beer)

Dave: Continue.

Tim: It's like this. The vast majority of beverages, when distributed for purposes of immediate consumption, reside in a receptacle (making a hand gesture towards his glass of beer) that while adequately harboring the liquid and allowing for convenient transportation and eventual placement on any flat surface, require the partaker of the liquid to expel energy in the manner of lifting the vessel to the partaker's mouth and tilting the receptacle at a precise angle that ensures the liquid gently flows across the tongue toward the back of the throat. Any significant variance of the aforementioned angle may result in too much liquid (i.e. spill (i.e. angle too great)) or not enough liquid (i.e. prolonged thirst (i.e. angle too small)) entering the partaker's primary head orifice which, I think we can both agree, can be classified, and this is putting it mildly, as unsatisfactory.

(long pause as Dave ponders)

Dave: OK. . . Can I say something?

Tim: Sure.

Dave: I think you just blew my mind!

Tim: You're fucking with me.

Dave: No, I'm not dude! I totally hear you! Here I am, needlessly extending my upper appendage over and over again in order to move the secondary canister in a direction opposite of that which gravity would have it move when, in fact, it was the liquid distributor's duty, fucking Ben's job, to transport that liquid into my mouth.

Tim: Exactly! You're doing half his job!

Dave: I'm sitting here hoisting shit like a fucking asshole!

Tim: So you're with me!?!

Dave: 110%

Tim: OK then.

(both Tim and Dave take a big drink of beer)

Dave: So Ben's kind of a dick then?

Tim: No. I don't think so. It's not Ben's fault. It's not like Ben can magically transport the frothy beverages directly to our mouths. In order to do that we'd have to relocate our bodies behind the embankment and invert ourselves so that our primary head orifices could receive the liquid via a direct transport from the primary canister.

Dave: Like a keg stand.

Tim: Basically.

Dave: Yeah that's not really feasible. I mean patrons need to be able to partake of their beverages from the various chairs, stools, and tables located throughout the establishment.

Tim: Right. So the problem is not with Ben. We like Ben.

Dave: I'd fucking die for Ben!

Tim: The problem lies within the energy wasted in the act of repeatedly extending out upper appendages toward the secondary canister that's a full 30.48 centimeters away, and then navigating that canister in a direction opposite of which gravity would have to go, all the way to our parched lips.

Dave: It's that distance from our lips to the secondary canister that's the real problem.

Tim: Yep.

Dave: Have you considered reversing gravity?

Tim: I certainly have. Looked into it big time. Did a deep dive. It's not easy. I'll leave it at that.

Dave: Liquid teleportation?

Tim: Equally difficult.

Dave: Shit.

(long pause)

Dave: What about an apparatus?

Tim: How do you mean?

Dave: An apparatus that somehow connects the secondary canister to our primary head orifices thereby alleviating the need to expel precious energy fighting gravity and physically transporting the beverages to our waiting lips.

Tim: That the liquid can travel through.

Dave: Like a tube.

Tim: Yes! Yes! A fucking tube or some sort! Brilliant. . . But wait. . . No. . . No this isn't going to work.

Dave: Sure it will.

Tim: How? With batteries or something? I mean will you have to plug this tube into the wall and walk around the place with an extra long extension cord? Walking around like some jackass with a tube with a cord? I mean the liquid isn't just going to travel from vessel to orifice at our beckoned call. It'll require some sort of machinery and engineering to force the beverage's proverbial hand. If you have to take the time to charge your tube battery or fire up its diesel engine that defeats the whole purpose. It needs to be easier than extending our upper appendage and hoisting the secondary canister, not harder.

Dave: No dude, it won't. Air pressure. Listen. By attempting to inhale more air with your lips wrapped around the apparatus you decrease the air pressure in your primary head orifice which lowers the air pressure at the top of the apparatus. The force of the atmosphere reacts to this by pushing on the liquid in the secondary canister harder than it pushes on the air in the apparatus. As a result the liquid will travel up the apparatus from the secondary canister to our lips.

(Tim & Dave stare at each other, smiling, slowly nodding, in awe)

Tim: I say we call it the anti-gravity beverage booster.

Dave: How about the tongue tunnel?

Ben: I think you should call it the Supplemental Transport Receptacle Apparatus Wand.

Tim & Dave: Ben!!!!!!

Dave: I fucking love this guy!

The immeasurables / Rodney Booksbehind

Boss: . . . and that's why it's important that we take a step back and reevaluate the whole invoice approval process.

Dave: I absolutely agree.

Tim: Me too. 110%.

Boss: Glad to hear. So Tim, since you seem to be a little more on board with the whole idea I think I'll designate you Team Leader.

Tim: Perfect. I'll promise you'll be pleased with the results. We'll work around the clock and give 120%.

Boss: That's the spirit! OK, next order of business is the Q3 budget.

Dave: Wait a minute. I agreed with everything you said. I think it's a great idea too. Why is Tim Team Leader?

Boss: Well Tim more than agreed with me. He agreed with me plus added another 10% on top of that agreement. You, on the other hand, absolutely agreed with me but stopped there - didn't feel the need to take it to that next level.

Dave: But that's not possible. We both think your idea is exactly what needs to happen. We are even in that regard. If anything I think it makes more sense for me to be Team Leader as I'm more qualified.

Boss: Tim? Thoughts?

Tim: Well Dave is better suited to tackle the project. With that I agree 150%. He's been here longer, he's more familiar with the invoices than I am, and he has a better track record in terms of completing projects in a timely manner that meet your expectations. No argument there. My only question is whether you are looking for the guy who will do exactly what you are asking for in the requested time frame or do you want the guy who will do that AND an additional 25 to 35%?

Boss: An extra 25 - 35% you say? On top of the 100? I gotta be honest with you that sounds even better than the original 110% you promised.

Tim: No, I agreed with you 110%. I promised the team would give 120%. Now I'm saying I'll complete the project within the degree range of 125 to 135%.

Boss: Sounds pretty impressive. Dave, care to counter?

Dave (really agitated now): That doesn't make any sense. Let's say this glass of water here represents all that this project encompasses. The water is the research, the project timeline, the implementation, the trouble-shooting, and the post-launch support. Now I take this glass of water and pour in into this empty glass. I pour every last drop of it. I pour 100% of the water into this new glass. Once all the water is poured the project is complete. There's nothing left to pour. I can't pour more than 100% of the water. As Team Leader I can promise you 100% effort and guarantee 100% completion and ensure 100% satisfaction. Anyone who tells you they can get more than all the water out of the glass is just spouting corporate mumbo jumbo!

Boss: (pondering).

(Tim casually leans across the table and spits into the full glass of water, adding just a little more.)

Tim: 110%.

Boss (pleased): See that there, Dave? It's the small things. The immeasurables. Anyone will tell you that.

Dave: This is ridiculous. Fine. Then let me go on record saying that I disagree with your decision 5000%.

Boss & Tim: Ha Ha Ha.

Boss: Now we all know that's impossible. There's no such thing as 5000% of anything.

Tim: Tops is like 160, 170%.

Boss: Exactly. Which is why I think Tim's our guy for this project. Willing to go that extra mile without being unrealistic. Now onto that Q3 budget. . .