What? What do you mean? No, nothing's unusual about today. It's the same as any other day. Pull your head out of your ass. It's Friday, man. Why are you asking me stupid questions? Just relax and soak in the atmosphere. We're in a nice place. Enjoy it.
What? Pink? You're out of your goddamn mind. Just sit back and finish your drink. Would you shut up? Listen to me carefully. The background to this column is not pink. Would I be sitting here if the background was pink? This idea . . . the very idea of it is ludicrous. Pink surroundings? While you're drinking? While I'm at it, why don't I just open my pants and let my vagina hang out? Y'know, give it some air.
Yes, I know I don't have a vagina. It was just a euphemism.
Of course I know what the word "euphemism" means. It's . . . uh, it's a thing . . . where you substitute a word . . . for another word . . . and it's, uh, it's a substitution. That's exactly, precisely what it is. It's a substitution.
Fuck you. I don't even want to drink with you anymore. You're seeing pink walls and pink elephants and pink euphemistic vaginas. I don't even wanna talk to you. What? No, I'm not gay. I appreciate the offer, you pedophile, but that's not the way I swing, baby.
Don't ask me that. You already know the answer to that question. I'm 26 years old. Yes, I know a pedophile wouldn't be interested in a 26-year-old. That comment wasn't meant to be taken literally. It was a euphemism.
Shut up! I know what the word means! Let's look it up, and I'll prove that it means substitution. See? Look here: "Substituting a mild term for a harsh one." The term "pedophile" is definitely mild considering what you're really like.
Look, just shut up about the pink. Am I sporting a pink shirt? Am I wearing lipstick and leather pants? Am I drinking an apple-ginger mojito? Jesus, it's like you're obsessed with this. I haven't seen you this crazy since you wanted to kill Bette Midler. Remember that? She was on the Tonight Show, and she was singing one of her stupid little cutesy joke songs to Letterman, and you were all drunk and watching it, and you were like, "Fuck this, I'm killin' the bitch."
You never did it. Midler's still alive. It's disappointing, man. I'm disappointed in you. We're all disappointed in you. Me, Letterman, and Martin von Haselberg.
You know, screw it. I think pink is a stylish shirt color. I think it would look good on me. It hasn't been big for years, man. Pink collared shirts are due for a bang, back onto the scene. Huh? Shit no, I'm not buying one. Let somebody else wear it first. I'm not gonna be celibate for six months just so I can bring pink shirts back into style.
Hey, you want breakfast? I think this place has breakfast. No, man. Why would we go someplace else? We're already here, in the column, and they have breakfast. You can get eggs, bacon, toast. Order a monte cristo if you want, for Christ's sake. Get an omelet made from an California Condor. I know the author. Whatever you want, I'll have him write it in.
Again with the pink? You want to leave because your colorblind ass thinks everything is pink? The column isn't pink. Just let it go, man.
