An Erratic Conversation

Bob:
Why are you wishing for zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz?
I thought that’s what that meant.
Tom:
When the world falls on the tip of a nose, only the purple fire hydrant can see the panda bear smoke nicotine.
Bob:
Are you going to answer me?
Tom:
You know what I mean.
Bob:
How can a fire hydrant see anything?
Tom:
How can a dancing light run around a city forming a rainbow while jets take off in the distance?
Bob:
Are you going to answer my question?
Tom:
Are you going to answer to the fundamental truths of non-extensionalism?
Bob:
Not yet, no. I still need to know how a purple fire hydrant can see anything in the first place
Tom:
Then make sure the moon shines when it’s brightest and lament wood stores bits of poodle intestines.
OK?
Bob:
What will that accomplish?
And if the moon is already its brightest, then why should I have to make sure it’s shinning at all?
That really made no sense.
Tom:
To will ensure the domestic tranquility of sea gulls of the coast of San Fransico having pictures taken of them in black and white by Adobe employees everywhere.
Bob:
Why should I care about that?
Tom:
I remove your logic and substitute my own.
Bob:
All I want is to know how a purple fire hydrant is able to see anything.
Tom:
You should care because a fly without wings would be called a walk if Barney was still with us.
Bob:
Well, where is Barney now?
Tom:
Singing the Celtic song of life and love with fellow Canadians at the top of a renovated city in a mountain in the northern Netherlands.
Bob:
What the crap makes you think that ugly purple thing is Canadian?
Tom:
I never said that, because bacon is made from pigs that graze off the grass of south central China where rice farmers pillage each other’s towns for sushi to be sent over to the Japanese in exchange for hats of many colors- duh.
Keep up Bob.
Bob:
What did you never say?
Keep up what?
Tom:
If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?
Can you be a closet claustrophobic?
Bob:
Whose wages?
And yeah, of course you can.
Tom:
THE WAGES OF SIN
Bob:
Well, no of course you can’t garnish the wages of sin.
You can’t make death look beautiful!
Tom:
Unless garnish was a color that was a mix of purple and green that was used in the Bible as the holy color that cleans all.
Bob:
Um, no.
Tom:
I stare death in the face every morning, and I eat it with my yogurt while reading the paper and don’t think twice.
Bob:
Now, I just think you are part of a cult or something with this “holy color” thing.
Tom:
A cult is no more than a colt mixed with a cut from a knife dripping in the blood of a donkey.
So there.
Bob:
There what?
You really want to be known for being involved in that?
Tom:
There is where the hair grows fair and the mare takes care of the man who doesn’t know where to make his lair.
Bob:
You still have not answered my freaking question!
How can a purple fire hydrant see anything at all?
Tom:
So many questions… so little unRARs…