“What?!”
“Yes.”
“You’re not serious.”
A sigh. “Unfortunately I am not kidding whatsoever.”
“But that’s-“
“I know, I know it sounds bad.”
“You think?”
Silence. Then, the same voice: “So what do we do now?”
“I have the barest hint of an idea.”
“Really? You know how to get us out of this?”
“I might…”
Coaxingly: “Come on, you know this will go through all right. So… why don’t you tell me what your plan is?”
Another pause. “All right, then…”
“Excuse me, that’s my dog.”
“Oh, so sorry.” Shuffling noises. Barking.
“Calm down, poochie, it’s okay…”
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2 comments:
No, that's MY dog!
Um, no.
Yes it is, look at that tattoo- it says "MY DOG"!
Yes, because I put it there!
Hey, you two, stop fighting.
I picture this as cartoon stick figures sitting around in a dark closet with only a bare bulb for illumination for the first one, don't ask me why because I don't know.
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