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The kitty flower pot
H.: So do I tell her, or what?
R.: I wouldn't.
H.: She'll notice that it's missing. It's obvious, to me, that it's missing. You know she'll notice.
R.: Still. Play dumb.
H.: I'm not sure that's good advice.
R.: Come on. Play dumb.
H.: I've tried that before. She's very perceptive.
R.: Look, she comes in, says, "Oh, dear. What happened to the kitty flower pot that was on the windowsill?" And you say, "Wot?"
H.: If only it were that simple.
R.: Wot?
H.: I said "If only it were--" Oh.
R.: See? Works all the time.
H.: I get it.
R.: Wot?
H.: I get it.
R.: So you just repeat that, like you don't get it, and she'll leave it alone.
H.: Yeah, but say she comes to the window, which she will, and leans out.
R.: Push her.
H.: What?
R.: She looks out, she'll see the kitty flower pot on the sidewalk, all smashed to crap. So push her.
H.: I'm not gonna push her through the window.
R.: Look, this way she finds out the truth but you don't have to suffer the silent treatment or whatever. She can't be mad, cause she'll be, you know --
H.: Comatose?
R.: Dead.
H.: I'm not killing my girlfriend over a broken flower pot.
R.: The flower pot her great-great-great-great grandmother passed down to her, with an inscription that reads 'To my great-great-great-great granddaughter, who I will never know, I leave this kitty flower pot.'
H.: It didn't have an inscription. You're making all this up.
R.: I'm just saying, if it's really important to her, you're gonna have to push her. Get it over with, fast.
H.: (censored). She's home.
R.: Move away from the window, hurry.
H.: Honey?
A.: Hi, sweetie. I'm home.
R.: (whispers) You'll have to act fast.
H.: How was work?
A.: Oh, my -- what happened to the kitty flower pot?
H.: Wot?
A.: The kitty flower pot.
H.: Wot?
A.: Are you okay?
H.: Wot?
A.: I wonder if it fell...hey! It fell.
R.: Now!
A.: Well, that's alright, I never liked the silly th -- (screams)
R.: There you go.
H.: God, I feel horrible.
R.: Yes, but you won't be getting stonewalled by the girl in bed or anything now.
H.: Right. Because she's dead.
R.: Well, yes, that's a hard side effect to deal with, but it's really not that difficult if you know --
A.: (grunts)
R.: (censored). She's moving.
H.: Honey?
A.: (screams)
H.: Honey?
A.: (shakes fist)
R.: It was an accident, A. We weren't trying to kill you.
A.: You made me hit my funny bone, you hosers!
H.: Well, at least she's okay.
R.: Maybe next time we try it from an upstairs window, eh?
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