It was a graveyard smash, dude.

So, last night, Young Dut was driving home for the holidays. I left Illinois, the land of the cotton, at like 10 PM. Around 1 AM, I get a text message from an unknown 817 number. They definitely had the wrong number. Your Literary Hero of course played along. I took the opportunity to start a bit that I think you’ll like.

Them : “What’s up?”
Me: “Not much?”
Them: “Party this weekend”
Me: “Awesome, where at?”
Them: “I was asking”
Me: “Oh. Yeah, let’s throw one.”
Them: “We’ll get together”
Me: “When and what time?”
Them: “I’ll keep you posted”
Me: “My cousins sent me a bottle of Grey Goose for Christmas. How hood is that?”
Them: “Throw your hood up”
Me: “THEY ARE WHO WE THOUGHT THEY WERE!”

(they now try to call me. I laugh maniacally while they listen to 2 straight mins. of Monster Mash)

Me: “AND WE LET EM OFF THE HOOK!!!!!”

(1 hour later after no response…)

Me: “Let me ask you something. How should I train for this fight: do I climb the tallest building and jump off? Do I lay down in the yard and let them run over me with lawnmowers?” (go watch the Ultimate Warrior video right here, it is worth your time, trust me: Run Me Over with Lawnmowers?

(like 2 hrs. later after no response…)

Me: “It was a graveyard smash, dude.”

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