Eric: Have you met the new Goji Synergy Kombucha that moved into the fridge? Craig I think. Lives down-shelf next to that super chill gaysian organic root beer who has THE best taste in music. Apparently he's totally single. Is some like super talented mixed media artist guy. OMG, I'm totally picturing me and Craig getting bought by that silver fucking fox over there by the sushi bar. We head back to his place in the Hills. Craig and I fuck all night in a glass doored Sub-Zero Pro. Umm, I think my attached straw is about to telescope.
Tyler: Will you do me a favor, Eric?
Eric: What do you need, baby?
Tyler: For you to shut the fuck up!
Eric: Jesus! Someone hasn't gotten dick in a while.
Tyler: You see that patchy-bearded, trustfund-living unemployed wannabe novelist hipster approaching me?
Eric: Yeah. Sort of cute. Ish.
Tyler: He's going to kidnap me, put me in the trunk of his Highlander Hybrid, drive me to a walkup in Echo Park, offer me to some ersatz Zooey Deschanel-lookalike cunt he's fucking, who will then swallow me, piss me out, and send me into the lonelyblack L.A. sewers where I shall unify with rivers upon rivers of diarrhea, before I, now some sad, forsaken little shit-pee tributary, get shipped to a treatment plant in El Segundo and then off into that great Sea herself where I'll one day, if I'm lucky, grow into a dull gray cloud that becomes acid rain that cleaves into a quivering droplet rolling down the window of a Whole Foods in New York or some shit where I'll then see once more my lost brothers and sisters in their fridge all happy-like and serene for a few timeless seconds before falling to the ground and getting stepped on over and over again and again seemingly without end until finally, at last, I evaporate into nothing.
Eric: Sorry, what was that? Couldn't hear you. That creepy dented disabled Smart Water like fell over and couldn't get up. I wanted to laugh at him, but it was like too pathetic. So weird, right?