RV Miscalculations

There you go again, crumbling your oreo into the milk.

That's how I like it.  I don't want to dip.  You don't have to reign over me with such authority that I have no oreo dipping freedoms.  What about you?  Probably eat your cookie dry, like some punk.

I'll have you know that I have manufactured a perfectly synchronized liquid/cookie delivery system that balances moisture content out to maximize freshness and taste, something I am not entirely sure you would understand if it came right out and inserted itself into your mouth on a bright summer day with low humidity.

Oh, you mean the opacity with which you live your life?

I'm not sure I can make out the contours of your words, through the density of layers around what I think is your mouth that is--how many cookies have you snarfed down today, anyway? 

What is it to you?

It is the black hole that I'm forced to share my life with, is what it is, why don't you drive for a while.

Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you.

I would like to like something, yes.  On that continuum, I would feel a modicum of relief.

Is that all?

Maybe.

Perhaps you need a cookie without the proper level of moisture infusion.  Perhaps that would free you from mocking me with that rod you call an ass.

I do not think anything would free me from the bondage of mocking you, dear.

Oh, how quaint.  Now drive.