I really wish I had remembered/could remember
what I was dreaming when I wrote that, because there is a significant
probability it involved Ewan MacGregor and really? That's worth a
memory.
Well, anything involving lightsaber problems
is probably worth remembering.
|
Tower. Light sabre. Freud
would have a field day. ;) |
...
Well, now I'm a bit disturbed. ;) |
Don't be. Obviously,
this is where the Bruce/Richard came from. I can just see it now.
Richard: You have every damn thing in this utility
belt but lightsabres.
Bruce: *grins* Funny you should mention that...
|
I actually just almost spit juice out
my nose. That wins.
Richard: How do you have a lightsaber in your *belt*?!
Bruce:...Well, where does Gambit keep his bo staff?
|
*LMAO* THAT is the
$62 million quesiton, isn't it?
Gambit: [drops by to leave their drinks] Don't ask if you don't
want to know. But, it *chafes* something fierce sometime,s y'know?
|
::dies!::
Bruce: nods ruefully.
Richard: jaw drops.
Are we going to break *your* LJ for
a change?
|
OMg, if we did I'd
finally sit in the trendy table! Squee!
Gambit: Do you ever find that you gotta adjust...
things when you sit down?
Brauce: [nods sagely] There was one board meeting
when I thought I'd die of discomfort.
|
Bruce: Richard, why are you making noises
like a dying cat? Stop hitting your head on the table.
Dude, you SET the trendy table.
|
Clark: I heard Richard in pain so I rushed
in from the tsunami in... uh... why is he banging his head on the
table?
Gambit: I think the caesar
was too spicy for him,
|
Richard: Lightsabers! Bo staffs!
Clark: Where?
Richard: Brain bleach!!!
|
Gambit: Sad. You'd think someone who grew up in Europe would be
able to hold his liquor better.
Bruce: He was exactly the
same in college except they were vodka shooters.
Clark: I'm lost again. Can
someone get me a beer?
|
Richard: I'm not drunk! I should be drunk. This conversation would
make more sense if I were drunk--what vodka shooters?
|
Bruce: Maybe it has something to do with not getting nookie.
Clark: [glares] Don't look at me. Lois has been throwing things
in my head for weeks now.
Gambit: [infatuated grin] It ain't love until they pitch a boysenberry
pie at your head and then threaten to emasculate you with gardening
shears.
|
HA! Somehow they always wind up in a bar exchanging
banter about sex.
Richard: Can we please stop discussing my sex life? I still have
very unpleasant mental images happening here. [stops and looks at
Gambit] Boysenberry pie?
|
Gambit: [waggles eyebrows] Yes. It's a little advanced for you,
hommes.
Clark: [totally clueless again] I like boysenberry pie.
Bruce: [headdesk] How did you survive high school?
|
Clark: ...I don't get it.
Richard: [pats his arm] I really think that's for the best.
|
Gambit: [boggles] Clark, you aren't still a member of the V-Club,
are you?
Clark: Uh, actually, I go to the Y. They hav excellent running
machines and, Bruce, why are you laughing at me again?
|
Richard: Would you two stop picking on him? [pats Clark's hand
again] Clark, maybe it's best you just... stop talking.
Clark: What? I like the Y.
|
Gambit: Do you like eating at the Y? [sniggering]
Richard: Oh, you're just twelve, aren't you? Bruce, DON'T encourage
him!
|
Bruce: [raises his hands off the table] I didn't say anything.
I'm just here for the alcohol.
|
Clark: I don't think I've ever eaten at the Y. I didn't know they
served food. Um... Remy, do you need help off the floor?
|
Richard: Bruce, shut up, don't you dare say a word.
Bruce: What? Remy's the one having an epileptic fit.
Clark: [looks at Remy] That's not epilepsy.
Richard: [bangs his head on the table]
|
Remy: Who needs drugs when you have Clark?
|
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