Chris Doyle is watching his siblings at the moment while his parents travel abroad. As a result, he’s pretty bored and he asked me to “entertain him”. So, we had a phone conversation consisting of him bragging about how he got sixty pounds worth of Playboy magazines from an elderly cancer patient.
I hate to admit it, but that is kind of brag-worthy.
He spent the entire conversation trying to convince me of getting a pet fox (“I looked into it“, he says, urgently, as if that makes it a reasonable idea. “We could set the fox on fire,” was his follow-up argument, which is exactly why it wasn’t a reasonable idea) and that although a zebra-striped couch cover was tacky, he already bought it, so we might as well use it.
The only good idea that happened was covering Chris Dyck’s room with pictures from said Playboy magazines. I can get on board with that kind of thinking.
We aren’t nice to each other which is why the conversation turned to how I am a slut/harlot/the devil and how he is an asshole/the devil/a slut/harlot, and we also talked about needles, which he hates.
Kelsey: Can we get your ears pierced?
Kelsey: But why?
Chris: I… (There was disbelief here.) needles?
Kelsey: Oh. Right. Well, you can’t even feel it. Actually, that’s a lie. You can. But it’s only a pinch.
Chris: Yeah, not convincing.
Kelsey: Please? I can make sure that they pierce the gay side even. That way we can go to clubs and the men will buy you free drinks. Because you’ll be beautiful.
Chris: I’m already beautiful.
Kelsey: Not as beautiful as you could be.
Chris: Besides, I don’t even drink that much.
Kelsey: But you could. You’ll learn.
Chris: See, usually I’m the bad influence. You’re being the bad influence here.
Kelsey: I’m not a bad influence. I’m just talking about going to get a piercing, and going to clubs and getting free drinks and – oh. Oh. Body mods and liquor. I am a bad influence.
Kelsey: …we could get tattoos together!
Chris: Uh, no. Needles.
Kelsey: Actually, I was just about to say that I didn’t want to do that. I don’t want a tattoo. Hey, so, what if I slipped those drugs into your drink that keep you awake but unable to move and made you get a tattoo?
Chris: You mean roofies?
Kelsey: Is that what those are?
Chris: Uh, yeah.
Kelsey: Oh. Huh. Okay. So, roofies. What if I gave you roofies and had you get a tattoo? Would you still be my friend?
Chris: Uh, no. Absolutely not.
Kelsey: What if the tattoo was of a fox?
Chris: I would murder you. (Something about a blind, white-hot, seething rage and about cutting me open and my insides. I wasn’t paying attention, really.)
Kelsey: No, no! What if the fox was in a sailor suit? A professional sailor suit?
Chris: I would cut you open.
Kelsey: What if it was a fox in a sailor suit with boobs?
Chris: …you almost had me, but no.
Kelsey: Okay, so what if it was a fox in a sailor suit with boobs in one of the positions of one of the girls in your Playboy magazines?
Chris: Still no, because it would remind me of cancer. I would think of cancer every time I looked at it.
Kelsey: But that could be a good thing. We could even tattoo a little cancer ribbon next to the fox, and people would see your fox tattoo in a sailor suit with boobs and the cancer ribbon and think you were compassionate and thoughtful. I’d basically be doing you a favor.
Kelsey: I’m basically trying to work out the conditions in which it’d be okay to roofie you.
Chris: Yeah, there are none.
Kelsey: (Sigh.) Oh.
Chris: Besides, from now on, if I ever get roofied it’s going to be your fault.
Kelsey: What? How?
Chris: It just will be.
Kelsey: But what if I died?
Chris: Still your fault.
Kelsey: What if I died in a horrific car accident first? What then? You would be sad, right?
Chris: No, I would laugh. I would probably go to a club and drink, and then it would be your fault because you encouraged me to go out and do that, and then when some guy bought me a drink and roofied me, even though I’d feel remorse for your death, it would still be your fault for encouraging me to go out and get free drinks and some guy giving me roofies.
Kelsey: …so you’re saying you’d feel remorse for me?
Kelsey: Aww. You would feel remorse for my death. That’s so sweet.
Chris: …that is not the point of what I just said.
Kelsey: That’s what selective hearing is. You would feel remorse for me. I choose to hear just that and not the disemboweling. Aww.
Chris sighed a little bit and made a noise suggestive of disemboweling at me before changing the subject.
You know you’re okay friends when you can talk about giving the other roofies and being run over by trucks in horrific accidents and still have the conversation end on a high note.