PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNK.

Hey. Punk. That's my ginkgo.

I do not disagree.

My core.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However wrong it may be.

No. Commas. Ever.

And now for a message of hope. Everything is garbage. You find something you care about. And it's taken from you. Your colleague. Your dream job. Your mango yogurt. Never. Love. Anything. That's the message. To Captain Dozerman.

Bryce. The flow is all wrong. Too many syllables. You're all jumbled up.

Yes. You mentioned that.

I could tell instantly that the correct portmanteau for Jake and Amy is "Pantiago".

I am here. I would have arrived sooner. However. Everyone I work with is a stupid-face. Especially Bryce.

You are close. It is "……… Paaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnn…" That's it.

Maybe the old Holt did. But the new Holt chugs Beaujolais out of a Burgundy glass without a care. Oh. It's a sauterne glass. Look. Ha. The alcohol has rendered me a simpleton.

Kevin is often surprised at the pranks and shenanigans I recount to him at day's end.

No. Call me… Velvet Thunder.

Sad. But true. Nonetheless.

Fine. Fine. If this will make you happy…

No. I'm no bunny-buying coward.

Sarcasm. The coward's lie.

Yes. Yes. We're married.