Slag Slag Slag

Nothing like a little chat with my buddy Evan to make the work go faster:

E/. says: going to see the imax attack of the clowns tonight w/ work peeps

Brendon says: Going to dinner with mom.

E/. says: imax is a huge screen w/ surround sound

Brendon says: Mom is a caring individual who didn’t shake me to death as a child.

E/. says: “to death” being the crux of that statement

Brendon says: Uh…yes. What are you implying?

E/. says: brain go “bouncy bouncy bouncy” around in that huge cranium of yours.

E/. says: much like a hamster in a habitrol

Brendon says: As I recall, it was my father who bounced my head off a ceiling beam.

Brendon says: Then again, that could just be the brain trauma talking…

E/. says: prolly. i am sure the regular probing’s have erased all memories of that time

E/. says: slag slag slag

Brendon says: Those were *anal* alien probings, how could they mess with my head…er, wait…forget I said that…

What are friends for, eh?