"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-"
"Shut up."
"But -"
"Shut up. You dragged on a one-syllable word for more than 3 seconds."
"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, yes. I did."
"And there you did it again."
"Yeah, I suppose I did. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-"
"For God's sake!"
Tim stood up from his desk, rattling it so that soon the neatly aligned papers were spread not-so neatly across the floor. Bob, afraid of what he was actually doing, decided to stand up, and confront Tim.*
*Tim, by the way, is totally not an allegory for Janani. Bob is definately not an allegory for Andrew. Moving on.
"Well, I am sorry," Bob said. "I just think too much."
"Do you have to make it so deafeningly audible?" Tim complained.
"I suppose not," Bob, uh... supposed, as he blushed and sat back down.
"No, Bob, keep standing up," Tim demanded.
"Nah," said Bob, yawning. "I'm tired."
"Is that how you're going to finish this? By sitting back down and going to sleep?" Tim said, with a copious amount of sarcasm.
"Dude," said Bob. "You're the one that made me tired in the first place."
"How so..." Tim pondered, looking off to the window, onto to remember: ah yeah, this place doesn't have windows.
"I was having fun, pondering out loud, then you made me stop," Bob said.
"Yeah, well. That's hardly a fitting metaphor. You - hey. This story makes absolutlely no sense, does it?" Tim suddenly realised. He also questioned why he was suddenly wearing a Mexican hat.
"Hey, weird stuff happens in fiction," Bob said, now dressed in a suave suit, and weilding a Uzi.
"What's the Uzi for...?" Tim questioned, now also wondering how the Mexican hat was now filled with what smelled like tuna fish. Mmmm, yummy tuna fish.
"No freakin' idea, but there are zombies outside, and a hell of a lot of crates to smash open," Bob said, triumphantly, and he stood up, jumped out the window, killed all the zombies, and then went and updated his blog with what could possibly be the most hilariously retarded story ever written.
Note from the author: my medication isn't working. :(
