Hey denim-skirtista. Wanna swing?
Whatever baby. Give it a few years. You'll be back.
No I'm actually 1-years-old but people confuse me for an older man all the time.
I know, I know. It's my momz fault. She has this "thing" for Henry Miller.
Totally. I'm like "Earth to Momz. He's dead. Give it a rest. She's like hanging copies of Tropic of Cancer from my mobile. I'm like, "I get it."
Representing da east coast on da westside. Fist to the chest, Chag...
No offense, Uncle Dave but what the hell is this thing?
Dude. Not cool.
Great. Now everyone's involved and I'm going to have to pretend like I'm down with the bubble teapot. What-ev-a.
And then Uncle Dave ate my head. That was a pretty weird time.
I'm looking for my Lego-eye. Maybe you've seen it? Maybe not. Okay, fine then. DON'T HELP ME.
This isn't my lego-eye! Impostors!!!
Aw. This isn't fair. I'm so not aware right now. Eye? Can you hear me? Oh, eeeeeyyyye?
Christ, woman. You need a serious tan. Ahhhhhh! I've gone blind! My eyes!!!
Christ, GRAND-woman. You need a tan too. Ahhhhhh! I've gone blind! My eyes!!!
Christ, self. Even I need a tan. Ahhhhhh! I've gone blind! My eyes!!!
Hey, grandpa? Do you have any self-tanner?