phone conversation

It's your face. I don't know what else to say. It's your face.
What do you mean?
Your face. That's why I'm doing this.
That doesn't make any sense at all.
Why? Your face makes me steal cars. Shitty ones. The ones that no one else will steal.
You're an idiot.
True.
My face makes you steal shitty cars?
Also true.
What do you do with the cars?
Torch them. But that's because of your ass.
My face makes you steal. My ass makes you light fires. Is that supposed to win me over?
No. Just make you feel special.
Mostly I feel creeped out.
But you feel something.
Yes.

What does my hair make you do?
Pardon?
My hair. Does it inspire anything?
Your hair... Hmmm. I've never thought about your hair before... buuuuut I suddenly have an urge to...
Yes?
Eat snack cakes until I throw up.
Ew.
You asked.
Keep that one to yourself.
Okay. Your fingernails make me sing Ave Maria. I think it's the star on the right pinky. And your toes - well, I have to control the chicken noises. People might think I'm strange.
They would be right.



What are you thinking about?
Your face.
Any good cars in the parking lot?
It's Walmart.
What time do you get off?
In about an hour.
Can I come with you?
I don't know. With your whole body there, things could get krazy.
Please?
Okay. But only as long as you promise to shake your ass to my Ave Maria Chicken when I torch it.
Deal.

This started with me having Rae Spoon's I'll Be a Ghost For You stuck in my head. Again, you just have to let things go where they want. It definitely needs some work, but it's a start. (I am starting to feel like an absent father with my continued promises to get Wonderland on here. But it will happen ... soon?)